Skip to main content

Full text of "The evergreen;"

See other formats


< z - i^;-S £-_ 




$flk fa .. I 9m 

y Wl § 












f p--sJ| 



JUltgimts k fxtnftm |kirtf. 









Western Ont. Univ. Library 
Fe -25-1938 


Little need be said by way of introduction to the 
selection of poems now offered to the public. It 
was thought that a compilation from the most ap- 
proved writings of our best poets, containing nothing 
of a frivolous or questionable character, would be 
welcomed by a numerous and intelligent class of 
readers. The desire of the Editor has been, to 
seek exclusively for that species of poetry, which 
is calculated to carry the mind of the reader from 
the false and fleeting excitements of earth, to those 
more enduring pleasures that are to be found m the 
contemplation of the brighter and happier world 
hereafter to dawn. To those who can appreciate 
the beauties of sacred song, the Editor with confi- 
dence submits the following collection The names 
of the authors, to which he need but refer, will be 
a sufficient evidence of the amount of talent and 
merit of which he has availed himself. 

It is a melancholy fact that so many bards have 
in our own times wasted the most glorious gifts of 


the Creator, a brilliant imagination and fine taste, 
in ministering only to the passions of earth. No 
such effusions will find place in the following pages. 
It is hoped that the time is coming when it will be 
universally acknowledged, that never are the poet's 
numbers more worthily sung— never is his lyre 
more sweetly tuned — than when devoted to the 
praise of Him from whom all ideas of the pure, the 
holy, and the beautiful, proceed. 

The success which has hitherto attended the 
sale of the "Evergreen" has induced the publishers 
to believe, that a superior edition, illustrated by 
original designs, and executed in the first style, 
would be favourably received by the public. 





To my Infant Son 









Song of the Stars 



Christ Stilling the Tempest 



Messiah's Advent 



Best Wishes 



The Mercies of Redemption 



Christian Warfare 



The Hebrew Mother . 






The Daisy 



Power and Benevolence 



A Church-yard Scene 



Parted Friends 



To the Rainbow 



The Stars 



The Aspen Leaf 



The Dead Sea 



The Criminal 



Verses written after recovering 

from a dangerous Illness 



The Maniac . • 



What is that, Mother? 



Christian Triumphs . 






Infant's Prayer 



Where is he ? 



The Hour of Prayer . 



The Destruction of Sennacherib 









The Grave 



The Death of the Righteous 



The Sabbath 






Miriam's Song 



Spiritual Worship 



Ode to Disappointment 



The Budding Leaf . 



Hymn to Virtue 



The First Grave 



The death of a Poet . 






There is a Tongue in every Leaf 



A Prayer . 



Better Moments 



Calvary . 



Ode to Duty 



The Tomb of Cyrus . 



God an Unfailing Refuge 



Who Loves me best ? 



The Sister's Voice 



The Christian Poet . 



Christ's Nativity 



The Jewish Captive's Lament 






The Offering 



Farewell to a Departed Friend 



On the New Year 



The Crucifixion 



The Birds of Passage 



The Offering 

L. E. L. 


The Parted Spirit 



Earth and Heaven 



The Wizard 



Advent Hymn 



The Pilgrim's Home . 



A Mother's Love 



The Mother's Grief . 



The Raising of Lazarus 



Slavery — True Freedom 



The Land which no mortal ma) 

know . 






Evening Time 



Watch Ye . 






The Clouds 

S. C. HALL. 





There remaineth a rest for the 

people of God 



The Heavenly Jerusalem 






The Beacon 



Mortality and Immortality 



Sharon's Rose 



The Christian 



The World to come . 



Comfort under Affliction 



Hebrew Hymn 


Vanity of the World . 



There is a World we have not seen 



A New Year's Eve , 


The Rainbow 



God hath prepared for them a City 

7 3. G. B. PEGG 


Fall of the Leaf 



The Passion of Christ 



Mutations of the World 



Gospel Truth 



The Christian's Triumph 



To my Child at Play 



The Dial of Flowers . 



The Convict Ship . 



Song of the Angels at Bethlehem 



Heavenly Mindedness 



The Sabbath 



A Fragment 



Prayer answered by Affliction 



The Second Coming of Christ ' 









On the Death of a Friend 





The Missionary- 






A Lucid Interval 



Such is Life 



The Entry into Jerusalem 









They are no more 



The Living and the Dead 



Christian Love 



The Last Man 






The Path of Heaven Narrow an( 





Job's Complaint 



The Saint . 



The Place of Rest . 



The Common Lot 



Reflection . 



Sunset Thoughts 



A Prayer . 



A Domestic Scene 



Evening Pleasures 



The Pilgrims of Emmaus 



The Celestial Sabbath 


240 . 

The Hour of Prayer . 



Rachel Weeping for her Children 



Pleasure not found in the World , 



Love of Parents 



Death of a Christian . 



Invocation . 









Sea Side Thoughts . 



" What thou knowest not now, thoi 


shalt know hereafter " 



€n mi} Mratf Inn. 

Thy mother bade me weave a iay, 

A lay of love, for thee ; 
And I with willing mind obey, 

Though tuneless all it be ; 
Though words but mock the fond excess 
Of love, of hope, of tenderness, 

Which thou hast wrought in me ; 
And though my harp's degenerate chords 
Faint echoes yield to powerless words. 

O could my heart, flown to my tongue, 

Dissolve itself in sound : 
Or did my harp, now all unstrung, 

With dulcet notes abound; 
Then would I strike a chord should chain 
The mind, and draw forth tears like ram, 

WTien I am in the ground; 
But thou, should Heaven thy life prolong, 
May'st value e'en this rugged song. 



But it may be, my boy, thy life 

Is in its spring to cease: 
It may be, that ere manhood's strife, 

Thou It find eternal peace : 
And ne'er should wish of mine be lent, 
Were wishes potent to prevent 

Thy happy soul's release : 
He metes thy days, my little one, 
Who gave thee life, — His will be done. 

But ever pure may be thy breast 

In grief, in joy, the same; 
And never may dishonour rest 

Its cloud upon thy name; 
But may'st thou early learn to prize 
The plaudits of the good and wise 

Alone as real fame ; 
Nor let the race absorb thy soul, 
But keep thine eye fixed on the goal ! 

Thy mother ! never may her eye 

Be damp with tears for thee, 
Save for those little ills which try 

Thy tender infancy ; 
And may'st thou to man's sterner worth 
Join her warm heart, her guileless mirth, 

Her frankness, constancy, 
Her love, which time cannot estrange. 
Which knows no ebb, and knows no change. 

HYMN. 1 1 

And when at length into thy breast 

Death's chilling tremors creep. 
O may'st thou sink into its rest, 

As to a gentle sleep, 
Unreach'd by doubt, unchaf 'd by pain, 
Leaving behind thee not a stain, 

O'er which the good may weep ; 
But with thy spirit plum'd to rise 
To that pure world beyond the skies. 

And this world many a peril hath. 

If thou should' st tarry here, 
Toils, cares, and griefs, lie in thy path ; 

And manhood's rough career 
Will dash the gladness from thy brow, 
The freshness from thy cheek, and thou, 

Perchance, may'st shed the tear 
O'er all thou lov'st, as earth receives 
Them one by one, like autumn leaves. 



O blest were the accents of early Creation, 

When the word of Jehovah came down from above ; 
In the clods of the earth to infuse animation, 
« And wake their cold atoms to life and to love I 

12 HYMN. 

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended; 

When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of 
the wind, 
By lightning and hail, and thick darkness attended, 

He uttered, on Sinai, his laws to mankind. 

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven, 
(Tho' poor his apparel, tho' earthly his form,) 

Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven ! " 
"Be whole!" to the sick; and "Be still!" to 
the storm. 

O Judge of the World ! when array' d in thy glory, 
Thy summons again shall be heard from on high; 

When Nature stands trembling and naked before 
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die, 

When the Heavens shall fly fast from the sound of 
thy thunder, 
And the Sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid 
and pale, 
And the Sea yield her dead, and the Tomb cleave 
In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail ! 




I look'u unto God in the season of anguish, 

When earth and its trifles could charm me no 
When pain and affliction had caused me to languish, 

And the dream of my youthful existence was o'er : 
I look'd unto Him who alone can deliver, 

Whose arm of omnipotence never shall yield ; 
And I prayed that his grace might support me 
for ever, 

My Rock and my Refuge, my Sun and my Shield. 

How bitterly then did my conscience upbraid me ; 

For the least of my crimes I had nothing to plead; 
But I thought of the promise which Jesus had made 

And I cried unto him in the time of my need. 
Yes: He whose entreaties so oft I'd neglected, 

And met all his kind invitations with scorn; 
The Saviour and Prince whom I thus had rejected, 

Was my only relief when I wander' d forlorn. 
b 2 


Yet still — O the baseness that reigns in my spirit !— 

I often forget thee, thou heavenly Friend, 
And thankless for all which from thee I inherit, 

Deny thee, and grieve thee — ay, times without 
How oft when the worldling has dar'd me to trial, 

Have I pass'd him in silence regardlessly by; 
Was this like the courage, the boundless denial, 

Which a sense of thy favour should ever supply ? 

O Father of mercies, assist me to cherish 

The light of thy word in my innermost soul ; 
Without thine assistance I feel I must perish * 

In the tempest of sin which I cannot control ; 
But Thou who canst say to the foam-crested ocean, 

" Thus far and no farther thy proud waves shall 
Thou only can'st curb each unhallow'd emotion, 

And guide me in peace to my glorious home. 

John Buchanan. 








lireg nf fyi Ita 

When the radiant morn of creation broke, 
And the world in the smile of God awoke, 
And the empty realms of darkness and death 
Were moved through their depths by his mighty 
breath : 

And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame 

From the void abyss by myriads came, 

In the joy of youth as they darted away, 

Through the widening wastes of space to play, 

Their silver voices in chorus rang, 

And this was the song the bright ones sang : — 

" Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, 

The fair blue fields that before us lie; 

Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, 

Each planet poised on her turning pole, 

With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 

And waters that lie like fluid light. 

" For the Source of Glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space : 
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides; 
Lo, yonder the living splendours play ! 
Away, on our joyous path, away ! 


" Look, look through our glittering ranks afar, 
In the infinite azure, star after star, 
How they brighten and gloom as they swiftly pass ; 
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! 
And the path of the gentle winds is seen, 
Where the small waves dance and the young woods 

u And see where the brighter day-beams pour, 
How the rainbow hangs in the sunny shower ; 
And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues, 
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews, 
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, 
With her shadowy cone, the Night goes round. 

" Away, away ! In our blossoming bowers, 
In the soft air wrapping those spheres of ours, 
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 
See Love is brooding and Life is born, 
And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 
To rejoice, like us, in motion and light." 

Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, 

To weave the dance that measures the years ; 

Glide on in the glory and gladness sent 

To the farthest wall of the firmament, 

The boundless visible smile of Him, 

To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim. 



€\m\ f tilling "tjp €twp± 

Fear was within the tossing bark, 
When stormy winds grew loud, 

And waves came rolling high and dark, 
And the tall mast was bowed. 

And men stood breathless in their dread, 

And baffled in their skill — 
But One was there, who rose and said 

To the wild sea, "Be still!" 

And the wind ceased — that conquering word 
Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; 

The troubled billows knew their Lord, 
And sank beneath his eye. 

And slumber settled on the deep, 

And silence on the blast, 
As when the righteous fall asleep, 

When death's fierce throes are past, 

Thou that didst rule the angry hour, 

And tame the tempest's mood, 
Oh ! send thy Spirit forth in power, 

O'er our dark souls to brood ! 

18 Messiah's advent. 

Thou that didst bow the billow's pride, 

Thy mandates to fulfil, — 
So speak to Passion's raging tide, 

Speak and say, — " Peace, be still ! " 

Mrs. Hemans. 

fysstatys IutoI 

He came not in his people's day 

Of miracle and might, 
When awe-struck nations owned their sway, 

And conquest crowned each fight;— 
When Nature's self with wonder saw, 
Her ancient power, her boasted law, 

To feeble man give way — 
The elements of earth and heaven 
For Israel stayed — for Judah riven ! 

Pillar and cloud Jehovah gave, 

High emblems of his grace ; 
And clove the rock, and smote the wave, 

Moved mountains from their place: — 
But judgment was with mercy blent — 
In thunder was the promise sent — 

Fierce lightning veil'd his face ; 
The jealous God — the burning law — 
Were all thy chosen people saw. 

Messiah's advent, 19 

Behold them — pilgrim-tribes no more — 

The promis'd land their own; 
And blessings theirs of sea and shore, 

To other realms unknown : 
From age to age a favoured line, 
Of mighty kings and seers divine, 

A temple and a throne : 
Not then, but in their hour of shame, 
Woe, want, and weakness — then " He came." 

Not in the earthquake's rending force, 

Not in the blasting fire; 
Not in the strong wind's rushing course, 

Came He, their soul's desire! 
Forerunners of his coming these, 
Proclaiming over earth and seas, 

As God, his might and ire : 
The still small voice, the hovering dove, 
Proved him Messiah, — spoke him "Love! " 

Of life the Way, of light the Spring, 

Eternal, un defiled; 
Redeemer, Prophet, Priest, and King — 

Yet came he as a child ! 
And Zion's favoured eye grown dim, 
Knew not her promised Lord in Him, 

The lowly and the mild ! 
She saw the manger and the tree, 
And scornful cried — "Can this be He? " 



Who -art thou, stranger! Nay, read on, 
I will not ask thy name or lot; 

Whether thy days be well-nigh gone, 
Or in their spring — it matters not; 

Thou art my brother ! and for thee, 

Stranger, shall my best wishes be. 

Life is a sea of stormy pain ; 

Thou know'st it or thou soon wilt know; 
Thine be the faith that braves the main, 

When its most angry tempests blow ; 
Thine anchor cast within the veil; 
. None ever knew that mooring fail. 

Thine be the love — refined from sense — 
That seeks its object in the skies, 

Draws all its warmth and brightness thence, 
Its comfort, confidence, and joys; 

And be thy best affections giv'n 

To Him who lov'd thee first in heav'n. 

Thine be the refuge — ever found 

By them who seek in faith and prayer — 

From all the trials that abound 

Throughout this wilderness of care. 

The faithfulness of Him, whose love 

Storms cannot quench, nor death remove. 


Thine be the meekness of the flower 
That bows its head before the blast; 

Increase in wisdom and in power ; 
Be lowliness around thee^cast; 

— Thy faith and love, like flames of fire 
Trembling, the higher they aspire. 

And when thy Master calls thee, — thine, 
Thine be the crown of endless joy, 

Where Heaven's eternal rivers shine 
Beneath a bright and cloudless sky. 

Those realms — how beautiful and fair ! 

Stranger ! a blissful meeting there ! 


€\t Minim nf Erittmjfc 

O can such charms be left to waste, 
Unmarked by man's insensate taste? 

Can beauty, use, and health, 
Be spread before regardless eyes, 
And not one thankful accent rise 

For all creation's wealth? 

Alas ! in vain, — if outward sense 
Is claimed by Heaven's benevolence, 
How shall it hope to reach 


The callous bosom's inmost core, 
And bid the heart with love run o'er 
That mocks the vent of speech ? 

Such love as lost and ruined man 
Owes to redemption's wondrous plan; 

Such love as He demands, 
Who, clothed in poverty's disgrace, 
Was given on earth no resting-place, 

Save by his murderers' hands. 

The Son of God descend from Heaven ! 
The Son of God to slaughter given 

For man's offending race ! 
O help us to conceive aright 
The mysteries of that awful sight ! 

O help us, guardian Grace! 

When all the heavenly host around 
Heard the tremendous fiat's sound, 

That man was doom'd to die; 
Each on the other gaz'd in dread, 
Each hung his sad angelic head; 

And silence filled the sky. 

Then, like the light, first-born above 
And launch'd o'er earth by holy Love, 

Stood forth th' all-gracious Son; 
Eager to pay the appointed price, 
Offered himself the sacrifice, 

And man's redemption won. 


Swift through the vast ethereal space, 
Flew the bright messenger of grace, 

At heaven's appointed hour; 
And o'er yon low Judean roof, 
Where human power stood far aloof, 

Announced the Incarnate Power. 

The Virgin hears with holy awe, 
The great fulfilment of the law, 

Sprung from herself on earth; 
And now the manifesting star 
Calls Wisdom from the East afar, 

To hail the promised birth. 

Ye Nations, worship at the call; 
Emanuel comes, to rescue all 

From death's relentless doom : 
Thou slumbering World, awake and see 
Thy life and immortality 

In yon poor manger's gloom ! 

Lay down your worthy offerings here ; 
The myrrh He loves is Sorrow's tear, 

O'er conscious guilt distill' d; 
His frankincense the grateful sigh 
Of Guilt redeemed from misery — 

Thus be his temple filled! 

"Peace and good- will" to earth He brings, 
And Heaven that hears, in transport sings ! 
O turn to Him alone, 


Turk, Heathen, Jew, till Heaven behold 
One Shepherd and one spotless fold 
Surround Jehovah's throne. 


(Cjrriattaii Wadm. 

Soldier, go — hut not to claim 

Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, 
Not to build a vaunting name, 

Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. 
Dream not that the way is smooth, 

Hope not that the thorns are roses; 
Turn no wishful eye of youth 

Where the sunny beam reposes; — 
Thou hast sterner work to do, 
Hosts to cut thy passage through: 
Close behind thee gulphs are burning — 
Forward! — there is no returning. 

Soldier, rest — but not for thee 

Spreads the world her downy pillow; 
On the rock thy couch must be, 

While around thee chafes ihe billow: 
Thine must be a watchful sleep, 

Wearier than another's waking : 
Sucli a charge as thou dost keep 

Brooks no moment of forsaking. 

■ i ' .'.■ :^::? ;:f: " i;; 'i i k 



■^. Iv^j|Jp 


Sleep as on the battle-field, 

Girded — grasping sword and shield; 

Those thou canst not name nor number 

Steal upon thy broken slumber. 

Soldier, rise- — the war is done : 

Lo ! the hosts of hell are flying; 
'Twas thy Lord the battle won; 

Jesus vanquish' d them by dying. 
Pass the stream — before thee lies 

All the conquered land of glory: 
Hark ! what songs of rapture rise, 

These proclaim the victor's story. 

Soldier, lay thy weapons down, 

Quit the sword, and take the crown ; 
Triumph! all thy foes are banished, 
Death is slain, and earth has vanish'd. 

Charlotte Elizabeth. 

€ju Wihw Mnfyn. 

The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, 
When a young mother, with her first born, thence 
Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd 
Unto the temple-service. By the hand 
She led him, and her silent soul, the while, 
Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye 
Met her sweet, serious glance, rejoic'd to think 
c 2 


That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers, 
To brin^ before her God. 

So pass'd they on 
O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves 
Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, 
Like lulling rain -drops, or the olive boughs, 
With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue 
Of Syria's heaven, she paus'd, that he might rest : 
Yet from her own meek eye-lids chas'd the sleep 
That weigh* d their dark fringe down, to sit & watch 
The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, 
As at a red flower's heart; and where a fount 
Lay, like a twilight star, midst palmy shades, 
Making its banks green gems along the wild, 
There too she linger'd, from the diamond wave 
Drawing clear water for his rosy lips, 
And softly parting clusters of jet curls 
To bathe his brow. 

At last the Fane was reach' d, 
The earth's One Sanctuary: and rapture hush'd 
Her bosom, as before her, through the day 
It rose a mountain of white marble, steep'd 
In light like floating gold. — But when that hour 
Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy 
Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye 
Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear, 
Turn'd from the white-rob' d priest, and round her arm 


Clung e'en as ivy clings; the deep spring- tide 
Of nature then swell' d high ; and o'er her child 
Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds 
Of weeping and sad song. — "Alas!" she cried — 

" Alas, my boy ! thy gentle grasp is on me, 

The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, 
And now fond thoughts arise, 
And silver chords again to earth have won me ; 
And like a vine thou claspest my full heart — 
How shall I hence depart ? — 

" How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert 
So late along the mountains at my side ? 
And I in joyous pride, 
By every place of flowers my course delaying, 
Wove e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair, 
Beholding thee so fair ! 

" And oh ! the home whence thy bright smile hath 
Will it not seem as if the sunny day 
Turn'd from its door away, 
While, through its chambers wandering weary 
I languish for thy voice, which past me still 
Went like a singing rill? 


" Under the palm trees thou no moreshalt meet me, 
When from the fount at evening I return 
With the full water-urn ! 
Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet 
As midst the silence of the stars I wake, 
And watch for thy dear sake. 

" And thou, will slumber's dewy cloudfall round thee 
Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? 
Wilt thou not vainly spread 
Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound 
To find my neck ; and lift up in thy fear, 
A cry which none shall hear ? 

" What have I said, my child ? — Will He not hear 
Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ? 
Will He not guard thy rest, 
And, in the hush of holy midnight hear thee, 
Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy? 
Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy! 

" I give thee to thy God ! — the God that gave thee, 
A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart! 
And precious as thou art, 
And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee 
My own, my beautiful, my undefiled! 
And thou shalt be His Child ! 

BIRDS. 29 

"Therefore, farewell ; — I go ; my soul may fail me, 
As the stag panteth for the water-brooks, 
Yearning for thy sweet looks ? 
But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me; 
Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, 
The Rock of strength — farewell." 

• Mrs. Hemans. 

Ye birds that fly through the fields of air, 
What lessons of wisdom and truth ye bear ! 
Ye would teach our souls from the earth to rise, 
Ye would bid us its grovelling scenes despise, 
Ye would tell us that all its pursuits are vain, 
That pleasure is toil — -ambition is pain, — 
That its bliss is touched with a poisoning leaven ; 
Ye would teach us to fix our aim on heaven. 

Beautiful birds of the azure wing, 
Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring ; 
We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn, 
Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn ! 
Though rainbow splendour around you glows, 
Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows : 
O what a lesson for glory are ye, 
How ye preach the grace of humility ! 

30 BIRDS. 

Swift birds that skim o er the stormy deep 
Who steadily onward your journey keep, 
Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay, 
But press still forward, by night and day — 
As in your unwearying course ye fly 
Beneath the clear and unclouded sky ; 
O may we, without delay, like you, 
The path of duty and right pursue. 

Sweet birds that breathe the spirit of song, 
And surround Heaven's gate in melodious throng, 
Who rise with the earliest beams of day, 
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay, 
You remind us that we should likewise raise 
The voice of devotion and song of praise; 
There's something about you that points on high, 
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky ! 

C. W. Thomson. 

€$t Itoisq. 

Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, 
Need we to prove a God is here : 

The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep 
Tells of His hand in lines as clear. 

For who but he that arch'd the skies, 
And pours the day-spring's living flood, 


Wondrous alike in all He tries, 

Could rear the daisy's purple bud— 

Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, 

Its fringed border nicely spin, 
And cut the gold- embossed gem, 

That set in silver gleams within — 

Then fling it, unrestrained and tree, 
O'er hill and dale, and desert 

In every step, the stamp of God ? 

J. M. G 

^mmr raft %mm\tm. 

God is not great because omnipotent ! 

But because power in Him is understood, 
And felt and prov'd to be benevolent, 

And wise, and holy ; — thus it ever should! 

For what He wills, we know is pure and good, 
And has in view the happiness of all : 

Hence love and adoration ; — never could 
The contrite spirit at His footstool fall, 
If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal. 


If then divinest power be truly so, 

Because its object is mankind to bless ; 

It follows, that all power which man can know, 
The highest even monarch s can possess, 
Displays alone their " less than littleness" 

Unless it seek the happiness of man, 

And glory of the Highest ; — nothing less 

Than such a use of power one moment can 

Make its possessor great on wisdom's god-like plan. 

How sweet and solemn, all alone, 
With reverend step, from stone to stone, 
In a small village churchyard lying, 
O'er intervening flowers to move — 
And as we read the names unknown, 
Of young and old, to judgment gone, 
And hear, in the calm air above, 
Time onward, softly frying, 
To meditate, in Christian love, 
Upon the dead and dying ! 
Across the silence, seem to go 
With dream-like motion, wavery, slow, 
And shrouded in their folds of snow, 
The friends we loved long, long ago ! 


Gliding across the sad retreat, 

How beautiful their phantom feet ! 

What tenderness is in their eyes, 

Turned where the poor survivor lies, 

'Mid monitory sanctities! 

What years of vanish' d joy are fann'd 

From one uplifting of that hand 

In its white stillness ! When the shade 

Doth glimmeringly in sunshine fade 

From our embrace, how dim appears 

This world's life, through a mist of tears ! 

Vain hopes ! Wild sorrows ! Needless fears ! 

Such is the scene around me now: 

A little churchyard on the brow 

Of a green pastoral hill; 

Its sylvan village sleeps below, 

And faintly, here, is heard the flow 

Of Woodburn's summer rill, 

A place where all things mournful meet, 

And yet, the sweetest of the sweet 

The stillest of the still! 

With what a pensive beauty fall, 

Across the mossy mouldering wall, 

That rose-tree's clustered arches ! See 

The robin red-breast, warily, 

Bright through the blossoms leaves his nest ; 

Sweet ingrate ! through the winter blest 

At the fire -sides of men — but shy 

Through all the sunny, summer hours — 

He hides himself among the flowers d 


In his own wild festivity. 

What lulling sound, and shadow cool, 

Hang half the darkened churchyard o'er, 

From thy green depth, so beautiful, 

Thou gorgeous sycamore! 

Oft have the lowly wine and bread, 

Been blessed beneath thy murm'ring tent, 

Where many a bright and hoary head, 

Bowed at the awful sacrament. 

Now all beneath the turf are laid, 

On which they sat, and sang, and prayed. 

Above that consecrated tree 

Ascends the tapering spire, that seems 

To lift the soul up silently 

To heaven with all its dreams! — 

While in the belfry, deep and low, 

From his heav'd bosom's purple gleams 

The dove's continuous murmurs flow 

A dirge-like song, half bliss, half woe, — 

The voice so lonely seems ! 

John W t ilson. 

^jifelt /rank 

Parted friends may meet again 
When the storms of life are past ; 

And the spirit freed from pain, 
Basks in friendship that will last 


Worldly cares may sever wide — 
Distant far their path may be — 

But, the bond by Death untied, 
They shall once again be free. 

Death — the end of care and pain — 
Death, the wretch's happiest meed, 

Death can break the strongest chain. 
Death is liberty indeed. 

Parted friends again may meet, 

From the toils of nature free; 
Crown'd with mercy, O how sweet 

Will eternal friendship be ! 

C. W. Thompson, 

€n tjn EatDbmn. 

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
When storms prepare to part, 

I ask not proud Philosophy 
To teach me what thou art. 

Still seem as to my childhood's sight 

A mid- way station given 
For happy spirits to alight 

Betwixt the earth and heaven. 


Can all that optics teach, unfold 

Thy form to please me so, 
As when I dreamed of gems and gold 

Hid in thy radiant bow ? 

When Science from Creation's face 
Enchantment's veil withdraws, 

What lovely visions yield their place 
To cold material laws. 

And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
But words of the Most High 

Have told, why first thy robe of beams 
Was woven in the sky. , 

When o'er the green undeluged earth 
Heaven's cov'nant thou did'st shine, 

How came the world's grey fathers forth 
To watch thy sacred sign ! 

And when its yellow lustre smiled 

O'er mountains yet untrod, 
Each mother held aloft her child 

To bless the bow of God. 

Methinks thy jubilee to keep, 
The first-made anthem rang, 

On earth delivered from the deep, 
And the first poet sang. 


Nor ever shall the Muse's eye 

Unraptur'd greet thy beam ; 
Theme of primeval prophecy, 

Be still the poet's theme ! 

The earth to thee its incense yields, 

The lark thy welcome sings, 
When glittering in the freshen'd fields 

The snowy mushroom springs* 

How glorious is thy girdle cast, 
O'er mountain, tower, and town: 

Or mirror' d in the ocean vast, 
A thousand fathoms down! 

As fresh in yon horizon dark, 

As young thy beauties seem, 
As when the eagle from the ark 

First sported in thy beam, 

For, faithful to its sacred page, 

Heaven still rebuilds thy span, 
Nor lets the type grow pale with age, 

That first spoke peace to man. 

T. Campbe&z. 



ۤi ituri 

Oh ; tis lovely to watch ye at twilight rise, 
"When the last gleam fades in the distant skies, 
When the silver chime of the minster bell, 
And the warbling fount in the woodland dell 
And the viewless sounds in the upper air, 
Proclaim the hour of prayer! 

Then ye shine in beauty above the sea, 
Bright wanderers o'er the blue sky free ! 
Catching the tone of each sighing breeze, 
And the whispering sound of the forest trees, 
Or the far-off voice, through the quiet dim 
Of some hamlet's hymn ! 

And the midnight too, all still and lone ! 
Ye guard in beauty from many a throne ! 
In your silver silence throughout the hour, 
Watching the rest of each folded flower; 
Gladdening with visions each infant's sleep, 
Through the night hour deep ! 

Yes, ye look over Nature's hushed repose, 
By the forest still where the streamlet flows, 
By the breezeless hush of many a plain, 
And the pearly flow of the silver main, 
Or sweetly far o'er some chapel shrine 
Of the olden time! 


Thus in shadeless glory ye onward roll, 
Bright realms of beauty from pole to pole ! 
'Midst the vaulted space where your bright paths lie, 
In the hidden depths of the midnight sky, 
To some far-off land — to some distant home, 
'Neath the ocean's foam ! 

But lo ! the far voice of the waking sea, 
And the dim dew rising o'er lawn i 
And the first faint tinge of the earl » day, 
Shining afar o'er the ocean's spray 
O ye that have been as a power and i 

Through the dim midnight! — -Fare ye well ! 


€\i Slsftttt tni 

I would not be 

A leaf on yonder aspen tree : 

In every fickle breeze to play, 

Wildly, weakly, idly gay, 

So feebly framed, so lightly hung, 

By the wing of an insect stirred and swung 

Thrilling e'en to a redbreast's note, 

Drooping if only a light mist float, 

Brighten'd and dimm'd like a varying glass, 

As shadow or sunbeam chance to pass ; — 



I would not be, I would not be, 

A leaf on yonder aspen tree. 

It is not because the autumn sere 

Would change my merry guise and cheer, — 

That soon, full soon, nor leaf, nor stem, 

Sunlight would gladden or dew-drop gem, — 

That I, with my fellows, must fall to the earth, 

Forgotten our beauty and breezy mirth, 

se on the bough where all had grown, 
Must linger on, and linger alone. 

Lt life be an endless summer's day, 

[ be for ever green and gay, 
I would not be, I would not be, 
A leaf on yonder aspen tree ! — 
Proudly spoken, heart of mine, 
Yet weakness and change perchance are thine. 
More, and darker, and sadder to see, 
Than befall the leaves of yonder tree ! 
What if they flutter — their life is a dance ; 
Or toy with the sunbeam — they live in his glance; 
To bird, breeze, and insect rustle and thrill, 
Never the same, never mute, never still, — 
Emblems of all that is fickle and gay, 
But leaves in their birth, but leaves in decay — 
Chide them not — heed them hot — spirit, away 
Into thyself, to thine own hidden shrine, 
What there dost thou worship ? what deem'st thou 

divine ? 
Thy hopes, — are they steadfast, and holy, and high? 


Are they built on a rock ; are they raised to the sky ? 
Thy deep secret yearnings, — O whither pointthey, 
To the triumph of earth, to the toys of a day ? — 
Thy friendships and feelings, — doth impulse prevail 
To make them, and mar them, as wind swells the 

sail ? 
Thy life's ruling passion — thy being's first aim — 
What are they ? and yield they contentment or 

shame ? 
Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state, 
If thine the leafs lightness, not thine the leafs fate, 
It may flutter, and glisten, and wither, and die, 
And heed not our pity, and ask not our sigh ; 
But for thee, the immortal, no winter may throw 
Eternal repose on thy joy, or thy woe ; 
Thou must live — live for ever — in glory or gloom, 
Beyond the world's precincts, bey ondthe dark tomb. 
Look to thyself, then, ere pass'd is Hope's reign, 
And looking and longing alike are in vain, 
Lest thou deem it a bliss to have been or to be 
But a fluttering leaf on yon aspen tree. 

Miss Jewsbury. 


€jtf to& #*a. 

The wind blows chill across those gloomy waves ; 

O how unlike the green and dancing main ! 
The surge is foul as if it roll'd o'er graves: 

Stranger ! here lie the cities of the plain. 

Yes, en that plain, by wild waves covered now, 
Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle ! 

On pomp and spectacle beamed morning's glow, 
On pomp and festival the twilight fell. 

Lovely and splendid all, — but Sodom's soul 

Was stained with blood, and pride, and perjury; 

Long warn'd, long spared, till her whole heart was 
And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh. 

And still she mocked, and danced, and taunting 
Her sporting blasphemies against the Throne : 
It came ! — the thunder on her slumber broke : 
God spake the word of wrath ! Her dream was 

Y et, in her final night, amid her stood 

Immortal messengers, and pausing Heaven 

Pleaded with man ; but she was quite imbued : 
Her last hour waned — shescorn'dto be forgiven. 


'Twas done! down poured at once the sulphurous 

Down stooped, inflame, the heaven's red canopy. 
O for the arm of God in that fierce hour ! 

'Twas vain, nor help of God or man was nigh. 

They rush, they bound, they howl, the men of sin : 
Still stooped the cloud, still burst the thicker 
blaze ; 
The earthquake heaved ! then sank the hideous din ! 
Yon wave of darkness o'er their ashes strays. 

Rev. G. Croly. 

€$t Criminal 

The dungeon walls were dark and high, 

The narrow pavement bare, 
No sunlight of the blessed sky 

Might ever enter there ; 
In all the melancholy weeks 

The prisoner chained had lain, 
No breath of heaven had kiss' d his cheeks, 

Or cool'd his fever' d brain. 

For him — awake — asleep — there came 
No vision of sweet rest : 


Undying memory, like a flame, 

Burn'd in his guilty breast : 
Dark as the weary gloom around, 

His soul was dark within; 
For, oh! he lived but in the sound 

Of shamelessness and sin. 

His mother heard his final doom, 

With shrieks that thrilled through all — 
O could nought save him from the tomb ? 

Must he — must he ! thus fall ? 
The arrow pierc'd her aged head, 

With cold and deadly pain ; 
She totter'd senseless to her bed, 

And never rose again ! 

His father spoke not — but the pale 

And quivering lip confess' d 
How direst agonies did assail 

His miserable breast; 
His eyes were closed, as if the light 

Was loathsome to behold ; 
But tears burst from the lids to sight — 

They could not be controlTd ! 

Fast flew the fatal hours — he trod 

Life's very brink alone ; 
Yet had no hope — no fear — no God! 

His heart was turn'd to stone. 


I saw him as he pass'd along, 

A branded death to die ; 
Wild curses were upon his tongue — 

Despair and blasphemy ! 

If there be one these lines may teach 

A moral, not in vain 
Have I endeavour' d thus to reach 

A more reflective strain ; 
The picture is from life — each day 

As sad a tale records : 
Virtue ! may thy eternal ray 

Light all our deeds and words ! 

Charles Swain. 


Though taught by woes to mortals seldom known, 
The humbling truth that "man is not his own", 
That, till we live to Him for us who died, 
All love is selfish, and all knowledge pride, 
All happiness a momentary gleam, 
All hope a meteor, and all peace a dream: 
Though taught this truth by discipline severe, 
(Such as health could not, life could scarcely bear,) 


Strong are the ties which still my mind entwine, 
And counteract the work of love divine. 
The world, the world its glittering baits prepares,' 
Its friendship offers, and obtrudes its cares ; 
Still would intemperate fancy wildly stray, 
Spite of the secret check, the secret ray : 
Weak to withstand, and yet afraid to yield, 
I neither keep, nor wholly quit the field. 

Father of mercies, "till the day-spring rise," 
And thy salvation glad my longing eyes ; 
Till doubt and fear like " morning shadows flee," 
And all my griefs are lost in love of Thee ; 
While through this cheerless world I faintly strive, 
Hope sore depress'd and Faith but just alive, 
Teach me to dread all guidance but thine own, 
And patient tread ' ' in paths I have not known ": 
Forgive my murmurings ; let thy quickening power 
Support my spirits in the gloomy hour : 
And when the hosts of household foes appal, 
" Turn, thou beloved," at my feeble call, 
Come, "with the swiftness of the mountain roe", 
And strength proportioned to my wants bestow , 
Teach me those wants more deeply still to feel, 
And deeply feeling, suppliant when to kneel : 
Oli ! in my soul that ardent thirst renew, 
Which nought can satiate but celestial dew ; 
Drive thou from thence unprofitable care, 
Yea, all that mars it for a house of prayer ; 


Dislodge alike the abject and the proud, 
Passion's low mist, and Notion's airy cloud ; 
Whate'er thy power has shaken, shake again, 
Till nought but things immovable remain. 

Thus, gracious Father, break each false repose, 
And unrelenting, "rule amidst the foes", 
Till, every low propensity exiled, 
"My soul is even as a weaned child" ! 
From mean self-love, or gross, or specious, free. — 
And all my treasures, all my springs in thee ! 


<€)t %mm. 

To see the human mind o'erturn'd, 
Its loftiest heights in ruin laid, 

And Reason's lamp, which brightly burn'd, 
Obscur'd or quench'd in Frenzy's shade: 

A sight like this may well awake 

Our grief, our fear, — for Nature's sake. 

It is a painful, humbling thought — 
To know the empire of the mind, 

With wit endow'd, with science fraught, 
Is fleeting as the passing wind ; 


And that the richest boon of heaven 
To man — -is rather lent than given. 


To-day he sits on Reason's throne, 
And bids his subject-powers obey : 

Thought, Memory, Will, — all seem his own, 
Come at his bidding, list his sway ; 

To-morrow — from dominion hurl'd, 

Madness pervades the mental world ! 

Yet think not, though forlorn and drear 
The maniac's doom— his lot the worst, 

There is a suffering more severe 

Than these sad records have rehearsed : 

'Tis his, whose virtue struggles still 

In hopeless conflict with his will. 

There are — before whose mental eye 

Truth has her chastest charms display'd ; 

But gaudier phantoms fluttering by, 
The erring mind have still betray'd; 

Till gathering clouds in awful night, 

Have quench' d each beam of heavenly light. 

There are— whose mental ear has heard 

The "still small voice!" yet, prone to wrong, 

Have proudly, foolishly preferr'd 

The sophist's creed, the syren's song; 

And stak'd upon a desperate throw, 

Their hopes above — their peace below. 


There are, in short, whose days present 
One constant scene of painful strife : 

Who hourly for themselves invent 

Fresh conflicts ; — till this dream of life 

Has made their throbbing bosoms ache, 

And yet, alas ! they fear to wake. 

With theirs compared, the maniac's doom, 
Though abject, must be counted blest : 

His mind, though often veil'd in gloom, 
At times may know a vacant rest : 

Not so, while Thought and Conscience prey 

Upon the heart which slights their sway. 

O Thou ! whose cause they both espouse, 
In mercy bid such conflict cease • 

Strengthen the wakening sinner's vows, 
And grant him penitence and peace ; 

Or else, in pity, o'er the soul 

The dark'ning clouds of madness roll. 


t0jrnti3 ijtat, Mvtyil 

What is that, mother ? 

The lark, my child ! — 
The morn has but just looked out and smiled, 
When he soars aloft from his grassy nest, 
And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, 

b 2 


And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere 

To warble it out in his Maker's ear. 
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. 

What is that, mother ? 

The dove, my son ! — 
And that low sweet voice, like a widow's moan, 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
Constant and pure by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is pour'd from some crystal urn, 
For her distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove, 
In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. 

What is that, mother ? 

The eagle, boy ! 
Proudly careering his course of joy, 
Firm, on his own mountain-vigour relying, 
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying ; 
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. 
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, 
Onward, and upward, and true to the line. 

What is that, mother ? 

The swan, my love, 
He is floating down from his native grove, 


No loved one now, no nestling nigh, 
He is floating down by himself to die, 
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, 
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, my love, that when death shall come, 
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home ! 

G. W. Doane. 

donate ^rinmpjfH. 

Thougr laurel crowns and victor wreaths 

Be for the sons of triumph twin'd : 
Though Song her sweetest music breathes 

For the destroyers of our kind ; 
O let them weep, for time shall sweep 

Their perishable pomp away ; 
O let them mourn, for death shall turn 

The proudest conqueror into clay. 

But here's a deathless coronet, 

Wrought for the holy and the wise : 
And here is music sweeter yet, 

Which never faints and never dies ; 
The good may see earth's glory flee, 

Heaven's ever-living glory theirs, 
Then" path is peace and pleasantness, 

And they are Joy's immortal heirs. 

John Boy/ring, 


Hail, gentle Echo, Music's softer daughter, 
Reclining on thy deep romantic seat ; 

From cliff, or thick- set wood, or rocky water, 
Springing to meet us on ethereal feet ! 

Yet in the soul doth softer Echo linger, 
It seems the spirit of departed song ; 

When touch' d again by Memory's airy finger, 
The harp note wanders lovelily along. 

Such is the train of holy thought returning, 
When sacred seasons long have passed away, 

By Memory rekindled, glowing, burning — 
Indeed with fainter, but as sweet a ray. 

So the lost sunbeam, in its soft reflection, 

Beam'd from the bosom of the Queen of night, 

Sheds over Nature's face a recollection, 
More fair, more tender, though, indeed, lessbright. 

Thus will the touch of Memory awaken, 
And bid the sabbath shine along the week, 

And bring again sweet moments long forsaken, 
And altars which the spirit fain would seek — 

Of holy converse and of high communion, 
Of praise celestial, and of ardent prayer, 


Of sacred mystery, and the blessed union 

Of hearts which glow'd in our possession there. 

How doubly blest ! first in the full possessing, 
And after in reflected life and light ! 

The past — the present — plenitude of blessing, 
Which not eternity itself will blight ! 

James Edmestone. 

Sttfituf ^rmpt 

O Thou ! who mak'st the sun to rise, 
Beam on my soul, illume mine eyes, 

And guide me through this world of care 
The wandering atom tfeou canst see, 
The falling sparrow 's marked by thee, 
Then, turning Mercy's ear to me, 
Listen ! listen ! 

Listen to an infant's prayer ! 

O Thou ! whose blood was spilt to save 
Man's nature from a second grave : 

To share in whose redeeming care, 
Want's lowliest child is not too mean, 
Guilt's darkest victim too unclean, 
O ! Thou wilt deign from heaven to lean, 
And listen, listen, 

Listen to an infant's prayer ! 


O thou ! who wilt from monarchs part, 
To dwell within the contrite heart. 

And build thyself a temple there ; 
O'er all my dull affections move, 
Fill all my soul with heavenly love, 
And, kindly stooping from above, 
Listen ! listen ! 
Listen to an infant's prayer ! 


Wtyn is $ti 

" And where is he ? " Not by the side 

Of her whose wants he loves to tend ; 
Not o'er those valleys wandering wide. 

Where sweetly lost, he oft would wend ! 
That form beloved he marks no more ; 

Those scenes admired no more shall see ; - 
Those scenes are lovely as before, 

And she as fair, — but where is he ? 

No, no, the radiance is not dim, 

That used to gild his favourite hill ; 
The pleasures that were dear to him 

Are dear to life and nature still ; 
But ah! his home is not as fair, 

Neglected must his garden be, 
The lilies droop and wither there, 

And seem to whisper, " Where is he? " 


His was the pomp, the crowded hall ! 

But where is now the proud display ? 
His — riches, honours, pleasures, all 

Desire could frame; hut where are they ? 
And he, as some tall rock that stands 

Protected by the circling sea, 
Surrounded by admiring bands, 

Seemed proudly strong, — and where is he ? 

The church-yard bears an added stone, 

The fire- side shows a vacant chair ! 
Here Sadness dwells, and weeps alone, 

And Death displays his banners there : 
The life has gone, the breath has fled, 

And what has been, no more shah be : 
The well-known form, the welcome ti ead, 

Oh ! where are they, and where is he ? 


Blest hour ! when mortal man retires 
To hold communion with his God, 

To send to heaven his warm desires, 
And listen to his sacred word. 


Blest hour ! when earthly cares resign 
Their empire o'er his anxious breast; 

While all around, the calm divine 
Proclaims the holy day of rest. 

Blest hour ! when God himself draws nigh, 
Well pleased his people's voice to hear ; 

To list the penitential sigh, 

And wipe away the mourner's tear, 

Blest hour ! — for then where He resorts, 
Foretastes of future bliss are given, 

And mortals find his earthly courts 

The House of God — the Gate of Heaven. 

Hail ! peaceful hour, supremely blest 
Amid the hours of earthly care ! 

The hour that yields the spirit rest, 
That sacred hour — the hour of prayer. 

And when my hours of prayer are past, 
Oh ! may I leave these Sabbath days, 

To find eternity at last 

A never-ending hour of praise ! 

Rev. T. Raffles. 


€\t IjgtrartiuD if IwmotjiBrii 

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, 
An d his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold ; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the 

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest which Summer is green, 
That host with its banners at sun-set was seen : 
Like the leaves of the forest which Autumn hath 

That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the 

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill ; 
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew 

still ! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
But through it there roll'd not the breath of his 

pride : 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 


And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail , 
And the tents are all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; 
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 



Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, 

Utter' d or unexpressed ; 
The motion of a hidden fire 

That trembles in the breast. 

Prayer is the burden of a sigh, — 

The falling of a tear, — 
The upward glancing of an eye 

When none but God is near. 

Prayer is the simplest form of speech 
That infant lips can try ; 


Prayer the sublimest strains that reach 
The Majesty on high. 

Prayer is the Christian'^ vital breath — 

The Christian's native air, 
His watch- word at the gates of death,— 

He enters Heaven with prayer. 

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice 

Returning from his ways, 
While angels in their songs rejoice, 

And cry " Behold he prays V 

The saints in prayer appear as one 

In word, and deed, and mind, 
When with the Father, Spirit, Son, 

Sw T eet fellowship they find. 

Nor prayer is heard on earth alone ; 

The Holy Spirit pleads, 
And Jesus on the eternal throne, 

For mourners intercedes. 

O Thou by whom we come to God ! 

The Life— the Truth— the Way ! 
The path of prayer thyself hast trod,— 

Lord, teach us how to pray ! 

J. Montgomery. 



On receiving from Dr. Rush of Philadelphia, a piece of the Tree 
under which William Penn made his Treaty with the Indians, con- 
verted to the purpose of an Inkstand. 

From clime to clime, from shore to shore, 
The war-fiend raised his hated yell, 

And midst the storms that realms deplore 
Penn's honoured tree of concord fell; 

And of that tree, that ne'er again 

Shall Spring's reviving influence know, 

A relic o'er the Atlantic main, 
Was sent — the gift of foe to foe. 

But though no more its ample shade 
Waves green beneath Columbia's sky ; 

Though every branch be now decayed, 
And all its scattered leaves be dry ; 

Yet mid the relic's sainted space, 

A health-restoring flood shall spring, 

In which the angel form of Peace 

May stoop to dip her dove-like wing. 

So once the staff the prophet bore, 
By wondering eyes again was seen 

To swell with life through every pore, 
And bud afresh with foliage green. 


The withered branch again shall grow, 
Till o'er the earth its shade extend — 

And this — the gift of foe to foe — 

Becomes the gift from friend to friend. 

W. Roscoe. 

ۤt tatt. 

O Grave, thou hast thy victory ! 
Beauty and strength are laid with thee; 
Thus is it in each distant clime ; 
Thus was it in the ancient time. 

The prophets of all former days ; 
All who win honour, love, and praise, 
The winning tongue, the arm of might, 
The bard whose soul is love and light, 
The patriot king, the wise, the brave, 
Are ever mouldering in the grave. 

O Grave, thou hast thy victory ! 
The desert sands are sown by thee ; 
And years must pass in misery steeped, 
Ere that dread harvest will be reaped ; 
The desert air is parched and dry, 
And thousands have laid down to die ; 
The traveller's steps grow slow and faint, 
His kind hear not his last complaint, 

f 2 

62 . THE GRAVE. 

See not his last convulsive start, 
As Death is busy at his heart ; 
His grave is in the burning sand, 
His memory in his native land. 

Of old thou hadst thy victory ! 
And Cheops nobly built for thee ; 
Raising thy trophy in the pile, 
That casts its shadow many a mile. 
Thine was the gain when rose on high 
The Egyptian mother's midnight cry ; 
And when God's angel with the blast 
Of death among the Assyrians passed ; 
When the unnumbered Persians lay 
On Sal amis at break of day; 
And when, mid revelry, came down 
Darkness on the Italian town — 
O Grave, thou hadst thy victory I 

Thine are the isles, and thine the sea; 
The hoary hills are all thine own, 
With the grey cairn and cromlech stone, 
And groves of oak and woods of pine, 
And the dim ocean's caves are thine. 
Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath 
The untilled verdure of the heath ; 
And in the field thy ardent race 
Outstrips the hunter in the chase; 
The mariner finds no unknown bay, 
But there thou lurkest for thy prey. 


O Grave, what woe is wrought by thee! 
What clouded years of misery ! 
What loving hearts hast thou bereft: 
What joyless, hopeless mourners left; 
Young Innocence without a guide, 
Beset with snares on every side ; 
Age, with white hairs and chilled blood, 
Pining in friendless solitude! 

Yet, than earth's mightiest mightier, 
O Grave thou hast thy Vanquisher, 
Long in thy night was man forlorn, 
Long didst thou laugh his hope to scorn; 
Vainly Philosophy might dream, 
Her light was but the meteor gleam, 
Till rose the Conqueror of Death, — 
The humble man of Nazareth : 
He stood between us and despair, 
He bore, and gave us strength to bear; 
The mysteries of the grave unsealed; 
Our glorious destiny revealed; . 
Nor sage nor bard may comprehend 
The heaven of rest to which we tend. 
Our home is not this mortal clime; 
Our life hath not its bounds in time : 
And death is but the cloud that lies 
Between our souls and paradise. 

O Grave ! well might each thoughtful race 
Give thee the high and holy place : 


Mountains and Groves were meet for thee, 
Thou portal of eternity ! 

Mary Howitt. 

How fair and how lovely it is to behold 

The sun in its splendour approaching the west, 

Its race is near run, and refulgent as gold, 

It glides through the ether as hastening to rest. 

It sinks, — but in sinking 'tis only to rise, 
Its splendour and glory afresh to display; 

It sets, — but in other and far distant skies, 
It rises and reigns in the brightness of day. 

Yet far more resplendent than this is the scene 
Of the good man approaching the confines of time. 

All loving, all peaceful, all calm and serene, 
He passes away with a brightness sublime, 

He dies, — but no pencil can ever display, 

The splendour and glory that burst on his sight, 

As guided by angels he speeds on his way, 

Through the portals of praise to the temple of 


J. Harris. 


€jn labktjr. 

What spell has o'er the populous city past ! 

The wonted current of its life is stayed : 
Its sports, its gainful schemes, are earthward cast, 

As though their vileness were at once displayed; 
The roar of trade has ceased, and on the air 
Come holy songs and solemn sounds of prayer. 

Far spreads the charm ! from every hamlet spire 
A note of rest and heavenward thought is pealed: 

By his calm hearth reclines the peasant sire; 
The toil-worn steed basks in the breezy field. 

Within, without, through farm and cottage blest, 

'Tis one bright day of gladness and of rest. 

Down from the mountain dwellings, while the dew 
Shines on the heath-bells, and the fern is bending 

In the fresh breeze, in festive garbs I view 

Childhood and age and buoyant youth descending. 

God ! who has piled thy wonders round their home, 

'Tis in thy love they to the temple come. 

A stately ship speeds o'er the mighty main — 
O, many a league from our own happy land ; 

Yet from its heart ascends the choral strain; 
For there its little isolated band, 

Amid the ocean desert's awful roar 

Praise Him whose love links shore to distant shore. 


O'er palmy woods where summer radiance falls, 
In the glad islands of the Indian main, 

What thronging crowds the missionary calls 
To raise to heaven the Christian's glorious strain. 

Lo ! where, engirt by children of the sun, 

Stands the white man, and counts his vict'ries won, 

In the fierce deserts of a distant zone, 
Mid savage nations terrible and stern, 

A lonely atom, severed from his own, 

The traveller wends, death or renown to earn. 

Parched, fasting, wearied, verging to despair, 

He kneels, he prays — hope kindles in his prayer. 

O'er the wide world, blest day, thine influence flies ! 
Rest o'er the sufferer spreads her balmy wings ; 
Love wakes, joy dawns, praise fills the listening skies ; 
Th' expanding heart from earth's enchantment 
springs : — 
Heaven for one day withdraws its ancient ban, 
Unbars its gates, and dwells once more with man. 

William Howitt. 


Birimtf #mtg. 

Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
Jehovah has triumphed — his people are free ! 
Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken — 

His chariots, hishorsemen, all splendid and brave ; 
How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but 

And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. 
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea : 
Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free ! 

Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, 

His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword ! 

Who shall return to tell Egypt the story 

Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? 
For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of glory, 

And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide. 
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea : 
Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! 



^rinfoai ttajjtp. 

Though glorious, O God ! must thy temple have 

On the day of its first dedication, 
When the cherubim's wings widely waving were seen 

On high o'er the ark's holy station ; 
When even the chosen of Levi, though skiil'd 

To minister, standing before Thee, 
Eetired from the cloud which the temple then fill'd, 

And thy glory made Israel adore Thee : 

Though awfully grand was thy majesty then ; 

Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, 
Less splendid in pomp to the vision of man, 

Far surpasses the ritual of Moses. 
And by whom was that ritual for ever repeal'd? 

But by Him unto whom it was given 
To enter the oracle where is reveal' d, 

Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven. 

Who, having once entered, hath shown us the way, 
O Lord, how to worship before thee; 

Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, 
But in spirit and truth to adore thee ! 


This, this is the worship the Saviour made known 

When she of Samaria found him, 
By the patriarch's well, sitting weary, alone, 

With the stillness of noontide around him. 

How sublime, yet how simple the homage he taught 

To her who enquired by that fountain, 
If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought ? 

Or adored on Samaria's mountain ? 
" Woman, believe me, the hour is near, 

When He, if ye rightly would hail him, 
Will neither be worshipped exclusively here, 

Nor yet at the altar of Salem. 

" For God is a Spirit ! and they, who aright 

Would perform the pure worship he loveth, 
In the heart's holy temple will seek with delight 

That spirit the Father appro veth." 
And many that prophecy's truth can declare, 

Whose bosoms have Jivingly known it : 
Whom God hath instructed to worship him there, 

And convinced that his mercy will own it. 

The temple that Solomon built to his name, 

Now lives but in history's story; 
Extinguish' d long since is its altar's bright flame 

And vanished each glimpse of its glory. 



But the Christian, made wise by a wisdom divine, 
Though all human fabrics may falter, 

Still finds in his heart a far holier shrine, 

Where the fire burns unquench'd on the altar. 


Come, Disappointment, come ! 

Not in thy terrors clad ; 
Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; 
The chastening rod but terrifies 
The restless and the bad. 
But I recline 
Beneath thy shrine, 
And round my brow resigned 
The peaceful cypress twine. 

Though Fancy flies away 

Before thy hollow tread ; 
Yet meditation, in her cell, 
Hears with faint ear the lingering knell, 
That tells her hopes are dead. 
And though the tear 
By chance appear, 
Yet she can smile, and say, 
" My all was not laid here." 


Come, Disappointment, come! 

Though from Hope's summit hurl'd; 
Still, rigid nurse, thou art forgiven, 
For thou severe wert sent from heaven, 
To turn mine eye 
From vanity, 
And point to scenes of bliss 
That never, never die. 

What is this passing scene ? 

A peevish April day — 
A little sun, a little rain, 
And then night sweeps along the plain, 
And all things fade away, 
Man (soon discussed) 
Yields up his trust, 
And all his hopes and fears 
Lie with him in the dust. 

O, what is beauty's power ? 

It flourishes and dies : 
Will the cold earth its silence break, 
To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek 
Beneath its surface lies ? 
Mute, mute is all 
O'er beauty's fall ; 
Her praise resounds no more, 
When mantled in her pall 


The most beloved on earth 

Not long survives to-day : 
So music past is obsolete, 
And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, 
But now 'tis gone away, 
Thus does the shade 
In memory fade, 
When in forsaken tomb 
The form beloved is laid. 

Then since this world is vain, 

And volatile and fleet, 
Why should I lay up earthly joys, 
Where rust corrupts and moth destroys ? 
Why fly from ill, 
With anxious skill, 
When soon this hand will freeze, 
This throbbing heart be still ? 

Come, Disappointment, come ! 

Thou art not stern to me : 
Sad monitress, I own thy sway, 
A votary sad, in early day, 
I bend my knee to thee. 
From sun to sun 
My race will run, 
I only bow, and say, 

" My God, thy will be done." 

H. K. White. 


€\t MMtig tni 

Now Nature wears her vernal hue ; 

Again will poets sing 
Of " daisies pied and violets blue," 

And all the charms of spring. 
The budding leaves with joy we see, 

And former bliss recall ; 
But O, what may our feelings be, 

When these young leaves shall fall ? 

Then hearts, which now are throbbing high 

With hopes that wildly soar, 
May heave sad disappointment's sigh 

And learn to hope no more : 
The maid, whose eyes, whose smiles, whose bloom 

Are soft enchantment all, 
May sink, love's victim, in the tomb, 

When these young leaves shall fall. 

The mind whose energy and fire 

Shines through the sparkling eye, 
May then — O fate forlorn and dire ! 

A wreck, a ruin lie : 
Its reason fled, its judgment lost, 

While fancied fears appal, 
In whirls of stormy passion toss'd 

When these young leaves shall fall. 


And many a one, whose soul is twined 

With a soul of kindred truth, 
Whose passion, ardent, yet refined, 

Survives the charms of youth. 
May sadly mourn love's broken tie 

Within the lonely hall, 
And heave the solitary sigh, 

When these young leaves shall fall. 

man ! thy date of joy is brief, 
More brief is pleasure's hour — 

It withers like the blighted leaf, 
Fades like the gather'd flower. 

The view is awful, yet sublime, 
Of earth's still changeful ball ; 

1 shrink while musing on the time 

When these young leaves shall fall. 

But hark ! I hear an airy voice 

Soft whispering in my ear — 
"Thou who dost mourn when most rejoice, 

And saddenest hope with fear, 
Thy worldly cares and woes may rest 

Within the churchyard wall, 
And dark weeds wither on thy breast, 

When these young leaves shall fall." 



itpira ta % x&n. 

Ever lovely and benign, 
Endowed with energy divine, 
Hail, Virtue, Hail ! From thee proceed 
The great design, th' heroic deed, 
The heart that melts for human woes, 
Valour, and truth, and calm repose. 
Though Fortune frown, though Fate prepare 
Her shafts, and wake corroding Care, 
Though watchful clouds involve the skies, 
Though lightnings glare and storms arise, 
In vain to shake the guiltless soul, 
Changed fortune frowns and thunders roll. 

Pile, Avarice, thy yellow hoard ; 

Spread, Luxury, thy costly hoard ; 

Ambition crown thy head with bays ; 

Let Sloth recline on beds of ease ; 

Admired, adored, let Beauty roll 

The magic eye that melts the soul ; — ■ 

Unless with purifying fires, 

Virtue the conscious soul inspires, 

In vain, to bear intruding woe, 

Wealth, fame, and power, and pleasure flow. 

To me thy sovereign gift impart — 
The resolute, unshaken heart, 


To guide me from the flowery way 
Where Pleasure tunes her syren lay : 
Deceitful path ! where Shame and Care 
The poisonous shaft, conceal' d, prepare ! 
And shield me with thy generous pride, 
When Fashion scoffs and fools deride. 

Ne'er let Ambition's meteor ray 
Mislead my reason, and betray 
My fancy with the gilded dream 
Of hoarded wealth and noisy fame. 
But let my soul consenting flow, 
Compassionate of other's woe. 
Teach me the kind, endearing art 
To heal the mourner's broken heart, 
To ease the rankling wounds of Care 
And soothe the frenzy of Despair. 

So, lovely virgin, may I gain 
Admission to thy hallowed fane : 
Where peace of mind, of eye serene, 
Of heavenly hue and placid mien, 
Leads, smiling, thy celestial choir, 
And strikes the consecrated lyre. 
And may that minstrelsy, whose charm 
Can Rage and Care and Grief disarm, 
Can Passion's lawless force control, 
Soothe, melt, and elevate the soul ! 



€)t first (tout 

A single grave ! the only one 

In this unbroken ground, 
Where yet the garden leaf and flower 

Are lingering around. 

A single grave! — my heart has felt 

How utterly alone, 
In crowded halls where breathed for me 

Not one familiar tone : 

The shade where forest tree shut out 

All but the distant sky : 
I've felt the loneliness of night, 

When the dark winds pass'd by. 

My pulse has quicken'd with its awe, 
My lip has gasp'd for breath : 

But what were they to such as this — 
The solitude of death ! 

A single grave ! — We half forget, 

How sunder human ties, 
When round the silent place of rest 

A gather'd kindred lies. 

We stand beneath the haunted yew, 
And watch each quiet tomb; 

And in the ancient churchyard feel 
Solemnity, not gloom. 


The place is purified with hope, 

The hope that is of prayer ; 
And human love and heavenward thought 

And pious faith are there. 
The wild flowers spring amid the grass ; 

And many a stone appears, 
Carved by Affection's memory, 

Wet with Affection's tears. 

The golden cord which binds us all 

Is loosed, not rent in twain ; 
And love and hope and fear unite 

To bring the past again. 
But this grave is so desolate, 

With no remembering stone, 
No fellow graves for sympathy — 

Tis utterly alone. 

I do not know who sleeps beneath, 

His history or name ; 
Whether if lonely in his life, 

He is in death the same. 
Whether he died, unloved, unmourn'd, 

The last leaf on the bough ; 
Or if some desolated hearth 

Is weeping for him now. 

Perhaps this is too fanciful : 

Though single be his sod, 
Yet not the less it has around 

The presence of his God. 






It may be weakness of the heart, 

But yet its kindliest, best ; 
Better if in our selfish world 

It could be less repress'd. 

Those gentler charities which draw 

Man closer with his kind, 
Those sweet humanities which make 

The music which they find. 

How many a bitter word 'twould hush, 
How many a pang 'twould save, 

If life more precious held those ties 
Which sanctify the grave ! 

Miss Landon. 

€1ib Dwtlf nf it $vtl 

On a couch of pain, in the prime of youth, 

A wasted form was lying; 
And all around felt the terrible truth 

That the Child of Song was dying. 

But, though sunken his eye, there now and then 

A flash, with such lustre beaming, 
That Heaven itself seem'd to lend the flame, 

So holy and bright was its gleaming ! 


He knew that Ms moments were nearly spent, 
Nor sought to have them extended ; 

For the work was done for which he was sent, 
And his mission of love was ended. 

His fervid strains had been often sung 

Alike by the great and lowly ; 
And had waked in the bosoms of old and young 

A love for the pure and holy. 

And he knew that long when his spirit had pass'd 

Beyond death's shadowy portal, 
Those soul-breathing strains would continue to 

And would be — like his spirit — immortal ! 

" O God," he cried, u not for richest store, 
" To be found in earthly treasure, 

" Would I wish among men to linger more, 
" My soul cannot here find pleasure ; 

" But to dwell with Thee, and behold thy love, 

" Where Sorrow entereth never; 
" From this cold world, O take me above 

" To sing at thy feet for ever! " 

His prayer was heard, — upon gentle wings 

The angels upward bore him, 
No longer on earth the poet sings : — 

But who for this would deplore him ? 

William Gurner. 



Days of my youth ! ye have glided away ; 
Hairs of my youth ! ye are frosted and grey ; 
Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more; 
Cheeks of my youth ; ye are furrow'd all o'er; 
Strength of my youth ! all thy vigour is gone ; 
Thoughts of my youth ! your gay visions are flown. 

Days of my youth ! I wish not your recall ; 
Hairs of my youth ! I'm content ye should fall; 
Eyes of my youth ! you much evil have seen ; 
Cheeks of my youth ! bathed in tears you have been ; 
Thoughts of my youth ! ye have led me astray ; 
Strength of my youth ! why lament the decay ? 

Days of my age ! ye will shortly be past ; 
Pains of my age ! yet awhile ye can last ; 
Joys of my age ! in true wisdom delight ; 
Eyes of my age ! be religion your light ; 
Thoughts of my age ! dread ye not the cold sod • 
Hopes of my age ! be ye fiVd on your God ! 



There is a tongue in every leaf,- — 

A voice in every rill ; — 
A voice that speaketh every where, 
In flood and fire, through earth and air! 

A tongue that 's never still. 

Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused 

Through every thing we see, 
That with our spirits communeth, 
Of things mysterious — Life and Death, 
Time and Eternity ! 

I see Him in the blazing sun, 

And in the thunder-cloud ; 
I hear Him in the mighty roar, 
That rusheth through the forest hoar, 

When winds are piping loud. 

I see Him, hear Him, evert/ where, 

In all things — darkness, light, 
Silence, and sound; but, most of all, 
When slumber's dusky curtains fall, 
At the dead hour of night. 


I feel Him in the silent dews, 

By grateful earth betrayed ; 
I feel Him in the gentle showers, 
The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, 

The sunshine and the shade, 

And yet (ungrateful that I am) 

I've turn'd in sullen mood 
From all these things, whereof He said, 
When the great whole was finished, 

That they were "very good." 

My sadness on the loveliest things 
Fell like the unwholesome dew ; 

The darkness that encompass'd me, 

The gloom I felt so palpably, 
Mine own dark spirit threw. 

Yet was He patient — slow to wrath, 

Though every day provoked 
By selfish pining, discontent, 
Acceptance cold or negligent, 

And promises revoked; 

And still the same rich feast was spread 

For my insensate heart ! — 
Not always so — I woke again 
To join Creation's rapturous strain, 

" O Lord, how good thou art! " 


The clouds drew up, the shadows fled, 

The glorious sun broke out, 
And love, and hope, and gratitude, 
DispelTd that miserable mood 
Of darkness and of doubt. 


% ^rmpt 

O Thou Great Being ! what thou art, 

Surpasses me to know ; 
Yet sure I am, that, known to thee 

Are all thy works below. 

Thy creature here before thee stands, 

All wretched and distress'd ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul, 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath; 
O free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death. 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves 

To bear and not repine! 



%iitn 3firattttts. 

My mother's voice ! how often creeps 

Its cadence on my lonely hours ! 
Like healing sent on wings of sleep, 

Or dew to the unconscious flowers. 
I can forget her melting prayer 

While leaping pulses madly fly, 
But in the still, unbroken air 

Her gentle tone comes stealing by, 
And years, and sin, and manhood flee, 
And leave me at my mother's knee. 

The book of nature, and the print 

Of beauty on the whispering sea, 
Give aye to me some lineament 

Of what I have been taught to be, 
My heart is harder, and perhaps 

My manliness hath drunk up tears, 
And there's a mildew in the lapse 

Of a few miserable years ! 
But Nature's book is even yet 
With all my mother's lessons writ. 

I have been out at eventide, 

Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, 

When Earth was garnish'd like a bride, 
And Night had on her silver wing — 
h 2 


When bursting leaves and diamond grass, 

And waters leaping to the light, 
And all that makes the pulses pass, 

With wilder fleetness throng'd the night— 
When all was beauty — then have I 

With friends on whom my love is liung 
Like myrrh on winds of Araby, 

Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung ; 
And when the beauteous spirit there 

Flung over me its golden chain, 
My mother's voice came on the air 

Like the light dropping of the rain ; 
And resting on some silver star, 

The spirit of a bended knee, 
I've poured her low and fervent prayer — 

That our eternity might be 
To rise in heaven like stars at night. 
And tread a living path of light ! 

I have been on the dewy hills 

When night was stealing from the dawn, 
And mist was on the waking rills, 

And tints were delicately drawn 
In the grey east — when birds were waking 

With a low murmur in the trees. 
And melody by fits was breaking 

Upon the whisper of the breeze. 
And this when T was forth, perchance. 
Asa worn reveller from the dance. 



And when the sun sprang gloriously, 

And freely up a hill or river 
Were catching up on wave or tree 

The arrows from his subtle quiver — 
[ say a voice has thrill' d me then, 

Heard on the still and rushing light, 
Or creeping from the silent glen 

Like words from the departing night, 
Hath stricken me, and I have press' d 

On the wet grass my fever'd brow, 
And pouring forth the earliest, 

First prayer with which I learned to bowy 
Have felt my mother's spirit rush 

Upon me as in by-past years, 
And yielding to the blessed gush 

Of my ungovernable tears, 
Have risen up — the gay, the wild — 

" As humble as a very child." 



See the " Man of Sorrows" now; 

Cruel thorns have pierced his brow; 

From his head, his hands, his side, 

Gushes forth the crimson tide ! 
Sinner ! on the fatal tree 
Jesus gives his life for thee ! 


Now his life is ebbing fast ; 

Soon the conflict will be pass'd ; 

Lo ! he bows his sacred head ; 

Christ, the Son of God, is dead ! 
Sinner ! on the fatal tree 
Jesus gives his life for thee ! 

Yes, the Saviour full of love, 
Left his Father's home above, 
Left his mansions in the sky, 
To live with us, and bleed, and die ! 

Sinner ! on the fatal tree 

Jesus gives his life for thee ! 

But a day is drawing near, 
Day of wonder, day of fear, 
When the Lamb that here was slain, 
Shall as Lord and Sovereign reign. 
Careless sinner ! what will be 
Then the doom assign' d to thee ? 

Seek his mercy while below ; 

Flee from everlasting woe ; 

Leave thy load of guilt and pride 

At the cross of Him who died. 
So shalt thou in heaven see 
A place reserved that day for thee ! 

William Gurneh. 


<Dh tn Duty, 

Stern Daughter of the voice of God I 
O Duty ! if that name thou love ; 
Who art a light to guide, a rod 
To check the erring, and reprove ; 
Thou who art victory and law, 
When empty terrors overawe ; 
From vain temptations dost set free, 
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity. 

There are who ask not if thine eye 
Be on them ; who, in love and truth, 
Where no misgiving is, rely 
Upon the genial sense of youth : 

»Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot ! 
Who do thy work, and know it not : 
May joys he theirs while life shall last ; 
iid Thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand 

Serene will be our days, and bright, 
And happy will our nature be, 
When love is an unerring light, 
And joy its own security^ 


And blest are they who in the main 
This faith e'en now do entertain : 
Live in the spirit of this creed : 
Yet find that other strength according to their need. 

I, loving freedom, and untried ; 
]So sport of every random gust, 
Yet being to myself a guide, 
Too blindly have reposed my trust; 
Full oft, when in my heart was heard 
Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
The task imposed from day to day ; 
But Thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 

Through no disturbance of my soul, 
Or strong compunction in me wrought, 
I supplicate for thy control ; 
But in the quietness of thought : 
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; 
I feel the weight of chance desires : 
My hopes no more must change their name. 
I long for a repose which ever is the same. 

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead's most benignant grace! 
Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon ttiy face : 


Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ; 
And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 
And the most ancient heavens through Thee are 
fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
I call thee : I myself commend 
Unto thy guidance from this hour ; 
O let my weakness have an end ! 
Give unto me, made lowly, wise, 
The spirit of self-sacrifice , 
The confidence of reason give ; 
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. 


€-jre €mit nf <fopm 

A voice from stately Babylon, a mourner's rising 

And Libya's marble palaces give back their deep 

reply ; 
And like the sound of distant winds o'er ocean's 

billows sent, 
Ecbatana, thy storied walls send forth the wild 



For he, the dreaded arbiter — a dawning empire's trust 
The eagle child of victory — the great, the wise, the 

Assyria's famed and conquering sword, and Media's 

regal strength — 
Hath bowed his head to earth beneath a mightier 

hand at length. 

And darkly, through a sorrowing land, Euphrates 

winds along, 
And Cydnus, with its silver wave, has heard the 

funeral song ; 
And through the wide and sultry East, and through 

the frozen North, 
The tabret and the harp are hush'd — the wail of 

grief goes forth. 

There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds 

A single palm bends mournfully besides the moul- 
dering stone, 

Amidst whose leaves the passing breeze, with fitful 
gust and slow, 

Seems sighing with a feeble dirge for him who 
sleeps below. 

Beside it sparkling drops of foam a desert fountain 

And, floating calm, the lotus wreathes its red and 

scented flowers ; 


And lurks the mountain fox, unseen, beside the 

vulture's nest, 
And steals the wild hyena past in lone and silent 


Is this ambition's resting-place — the couch of fallen 
might ? 

And ends the path of glory thus, and fame's en- 
shrining light ? 

Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared 

How is thy boasted name forgot, and dimm'd thine 
honour's star ? 

Approach: — what said the graven verse ? Alas, 

for human pride ! — 
"Dominion's envied gifts were mine — nor earth her 

praise denied : 
Thou, traveller, if a suppliant's voice find echo in thy 

O envy not the little dust which hides my mortal 




#ni An Milling firing*. 

The smoothest seas will sometimes prove 
To the confiding bark untrue ! 

And if she trust the stars above, 
They can be treacherous too. 

TV umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread, 
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend, 

Draws lightnings down upon the head 
It promised to defend. 

But Thou art true, incarnate Lord ! 

Who didst vouchsafe for man to die ; 
Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word 

No change can falsify ! 

I bent before thy gracious throne, 

And ask'd for peace with suppliant knee ; 

And peace was given — nor peace alone, 
But faith, and hope, and ecstasy ! 



Who loves me best? — My Mother, sweet, 
Whose every look with love 's replete ; 
Who held me, infant, on her knee, — 
Who hath ever watch'd me tenderly ; 
And yet I have heard my mother say, 
That she some time must pass away : 
Who then shall shield me from earthly ill ? 
Some one must love me better still ! 

Who loves me best ? — My father dear, 
Who delights to have me always near;, 
He whom I fly each eve to meet, 
When pass'd away is the noontide heat : 
Who from the bank where the sunbeam lies 
Brings me the wild wood strawberries. 
O he is dear as my mother to me, — 
But he will perish, even as she. 

Who loves me best ? — The gentle dove 
That I have tamed with my childish love, 
That every one save myself doth fear, 
Whose soft coo soundeth when I come near ; 
Yet perhaps it loves me because I bring 
To its cage the drops from the clearest spring, 


And hang green branches around the door ; 
Something, surely, must love me more ! 

Who loves me best? — My sister fair, 
With her laughing eyes and clustering hair ! 
Who flowers around my head doth twine, 
Who presseth her rosy lips to mine, 
Who singeth me songs in her artless glee, 
Can any love me better than she ? 
Yet, when I ask'd, that sister confess'd, 
Of all, she did not love me the best ! 

Who loves me best ? — My brother young, 
With his healthy cheek and his lisping tongue ; 
Who delighteth to lead me, in merry play, 
Far down the green wood's bushy way ; 
Who showeth me where the hazel nuts grow, 
And where the fairest field-flowers blow ; 
Yet perhaps he loves not more than the rest, — 
How shall I find who loves me best ? 

My mother loves me, — but she may die ; 
My white dove loves me, — but that may fly ; 
My father loves me, — he may be changed ; 
I have heard of brothers and sisters estranged; 
If they should forsake me, what should I do ? 
Where should I bear my sad heart to ? 
Some one, surely would be my stay- 
Some one must love me better than they. 

the sister's voice. 97 

Yes, fair child, there is One above, 
Who loves thee with an unchangeable love ; 
He who formed those frail, dear things, . 
To which thy young heart fondly clings, — 
Even though all should forsake thee, still 
He would protect thee through every ill, 
O is not such love worth all the rest ? 
Child ! it is God who loves thee best. 

Mary Ann Brown. 

€(jb lister's % nirt 

O my sister's voice is gone away ! 

Around our social hearth, 
We have lost its tones that were so gay, 

So full of harmless mirth. 
We miss the glancing of her eye, 

The waving of her hair, 
The footsteps lightly gliding by, 

The hand so small and fair ; 
And the wild, bright smile that lit her face, 

And made our hearts rejoice, — 
Sadly we mourn each vanquish'd grace, 

But most of all her voice. 

98 the sister's voice. 

For O it was so soft and sweet 

When uttered forth in words : 
Such tones it had as hearts repeat 

In ecnoes on their chords ; 
And lovely when in measure soft 

She sang a mournful song, 
And heavenly when it swelled aloft 

In triumph-chorus strong ; 
And dearest when its words of love 

Would soothe our bosom's care, 
And loveliest when it rose above 

In sounds of praise and prayer. 

O, in my childhood, I have sate 

When that sweet voice hath breathed, 
Forgetful of each merry mate — 

Of the wild flowers I had wreathed ; 
And though each other voice I scorn'd 

That called me from my play. 
If my sweet sister only warn r d, 

I never could delay. 
'Twas she who sang me many a rhyme, 

And told me many a tale, 
And many a legend of olden time 

That made my spirit quail. 

There are a thousand pleasant sounds 

Around our cottage still — 
The torrent that before it bounds, 

The breeze upon the hill, 

the sister's voice. 99 

The murmuring of the wood- dove's sigh, 

The swallow in the eaves, 
And the wind that sweeps a melody 

In passing from the leaves ; 
And the pattering of the early rain, 

The opening flowers to wet ; 
But they want my sister's voice again 

To make them sweeter yet. 

We stood around her dying bed, 

We saw her blue eyes close, 
While from her heart the pulses fled, 

And from her cheek the rose, 
And still her lips in fondness moved, 

And still she strove to speak 
To the mournful beings that she loved, 

And yet she was too weak ; 
Till at last from her eye came one bright ray, 

That bound us like a spell ; 
And as her spirit pass'd away, 

We heard her sigh, " Farewell !" 

And oft since then that voice hath come 

Across my heart again ; 
And it seems to speak as from the tomb, 

And bids me not complain : 
And I never hear a low, soft flute, 

Or the sound of a rippling stream. 
Or the rich deep music of a lute, 

But it renews my dream, 


And brings the hidden treasures forth 

That lie in memory's store ; 
And again to thoughts of that voice give birth, 

That voice I shall hear no more. 

No more ! it is not so — my hope 

Shall still be strong in heaven : 
Still search around the spacious scope 

For peace and comfort given. 
We know there is a world above, 

Where all the blessed meet, 
Where we shall gaze on those we love, 

Around the Saviour's feet ; 
And I shall hear my sister's voice, 

In holier, purer tone, 
With all the spotless souls rejoice 

Before the Eternal Throne. 



ۤi ۤmlkn 1$m\. 

One of this mood I do remember well, 

In humbler dwelling born, retired, remote ; 

In rural quietude, among hills and streams, 

And melancholy deserts, where the sun 

Saw, as he passed, a shepherd only, here 

And there, watching his little flock, or heard 

The ploughman talking to his steers ■ his hopes, 

His morning hopes, awoke before him, smiling, 

Among the dews and holy mountain airs ; 

And fancy colour' d them with every hue 

Of heavenly loveliness. But soon his dreams 

Of childhood fled away ; those rainbow dreams 

So innocent and fair, that wither' d Age 

E'en at the grave, cleared up his dusty eye, 

And passing all between, look'd fondly back 

To see them once again, ere he departed; 

These fled away, and anxious Thought, that wish'd 

To go, yet whither knew not well to go, 

Possess'd his soul, and held it still awhile. 

He listen' d, heard from far the voice of fame, 

Heard and was charm'd ; and deep and sudden vow 

Of resolution made to be renew'd ; 

And deeper vow'd again to keep his vow. 

His parents saw — his parents whom God made 

Of kindest heart — saw, and indulged his hope. 


The ancient page he turn'd, read much, thought 

And with old bards of honourable name 
Measured his soul severely ; and look'd up 
To fame, ambitious of no second place. 
Hope grew from inward faith, and promised fair, 
And out before him opened many a path, 
Ascending where the laurel highest waved 
Her branch of endless green. He stood admiring 
But stood, admired, not long. The harp he seized — 
The harp he loved, loved better than his life — 
The harp which utter'd deepest notes, and held 
The ear of Thought a captive to his song. 
He searched and meditated much, and whiles, 
With rapturous hand, in secret touch' d the lyre, 
Aiming at glorious strains; and search/ d again 
For theme deserving of immortal verse ; 
Chose now, and now refused unsatisfied; 
Pleased, then displeased, and hesitating still. 

Thus stood his mind, when round him came a 
cloud — 
Slowly and heavily it came : a cloud 
Of ills we mention not. Enough to say, 
Twas cold and dead impenetrable gloom. 
He saw its dark approach, and saw his hopes 
One after one, put out, as nearer still 
It drew his soul ; but fainted not at first, 
Fainted not soon. He knew the lot of man 


Was trouble, and prepared to bear the worst ; 
Endure whate'er should come, without a sigh ; 
Endure, and drink, e'en to the very dregs, 
The bitterest cup that time could measure out : 
And, having done, look up, and ask for more. 

He call'd Philosophy, and with his heart 
Reason' d. He call'd Religion, too, but call'd 
Reluctantly, and therefore was not heard ; 
Ashamed to be o'ermatch'd by earthly woes, 
He sought and sought, with eye that dimm'd 

To find some avenue to light, some place 
On which to rest a hope, but sought in vain. 
Darker and darker still the darkness grew. 
At length he sunk, and Disappointment stood 
His only comforter, and mournfully 
Told all was past. His interest in life, 
In being, ceased : and now he seemed to feel, 
And shudder'd as he felt, his powers of mind 
Decaying in the spring-time of his day. 
The vigorous, weak became ; the clear, obscure ; 
Memory gave up her charge; Decision reel'd; 
And from her flight Fancy returned, return' d 
Because she found no nourishment abroad. 
The blue heavens wither'd ; and the moon, and 

And all the stars, and the green earth, and morn 
And evening wither'd ; and the eyes and smiles 


And faces of all men and women withered: 

Withered to him : and all the universe, 

Like something which had been, appeared; but 

Was dead, and mould'ring fast away. He tried 
No more to hope, wish'd to forget his vow, 
Wish'd to forget his harp ; then ceased to wish . 
That was his last. Enjoyment now was done, 
He had no hope, no wish, and scarce a fear ; 
Or being sensible, and sensible 
Of loss, he as some atom seem'd, which God 
Had made superfluously, and needed not 
To build creation with ; but back again 
To nothing threw, and left in the void, 
With everlasting sense that once it was. 

O ! who can tell what days, what nights he 
Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless woe ! 
And who can tell how many, glorious once, 
To others and themselves of promise full, 
Conducted to this path of human thought, 
This wilderness of intellectual death, 
Wasted and pined, and vanish'd from the earth, 
Leaving no vestige of memorial there ! 

It was not so with him. When thus he lay, 
Forlorn of heart, wither'd and desolate, 
As leaf of Autumn, which the wolfish winds 
Selecting from its former sisters, chase 

Christ's nativity. 105 

Far from its native grove, to lifeless wastes, 

And leave it there alone to be forgotten 

Eternally, God passed in mercy by, 

(His praise be ever new !) and on him breathed, 

And bade him live, and put into his hands 

A holy harp, into his lips a song, 

That roll'd its numbers down the tide of time : 

Ambitious now but little to be praised 

Of men alone ; ambitious most to be 

Approved of God, the Judge of all, and have 

His name recorded in the book of life. 


WHEn Jordan hush'd his waters still, 

And silence slept on Zion's hill ; 

When Bethlehem's shepherds through the night 

Watch'd o'er their flocks by starry light ; 

Hark ! from the midnight hills around, 
A voice of more than mortal sound, 
In distant hallelujahs stole, 
Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul 

106 Christ's nativity. 

Then swift to every startled eye, 
New streams of glory light the sky ; 
Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour 
Her spirits to the midnight hour. 

On wheels of light, on wings of flame, 
The glorious hosts of Zion came ; 
High heaven with songs of triumph rung, 
While thus they struck their harps and sung ; 

O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye, 
The long expected hour is nigh ; 
The joys of nature rise again, 
The Prince of Salem comes to reign. 

See, Mercy, from her golden urn, 
Pours a rich stream to them that mourn : 
Behold, she binds with tender care 
The bleeding bosom of Despair. 

He comes ! to cheer the trembling heart 
Bids Satan and his hosts depart ; 
Again the day-star gilds the gloom, 
Again the bowers of Eden bloom ! 

O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye, 
The long expected hour is nigh ; 
The joys of nature rise again, 
The Prince of Salem comes to reign. 



By Babylon's rivers we sat down and wept 

And our once-pleasing harps on the willows we 
For Zion was still in remembrance kept, 

And the thoughts of captivity silenced each 

They that carried us captive demanded a song, 
And ask'd us for mirth in the midst of our woes, 

But how can we smile when our fetters are strong, 
Or sing Zion's songs in the ears of our foes ? 

Ah, no ! for our hearts are with bitterness torn, 
When we think on the dearly loved land of our 
And all that is left us to do is to mourn 

Happy days that for ever have vanish' d from 

Jerusalem ! never shalt thou be forgot 

Till our hearts cease to beat in the struggles of 
While living we '11 bless thee, whatever our lot, 
And will die with thy name on our last-sounding 
breath ! 

William Gurner. 



How sweet to the heart is the thought of To-morrow, 
When Hope's fairy pictures hright colours dis- 
play : 

How sweet when we can from futurity borrow 
A balm for the griefs that afflict us to-day. 

When wearisome sickness hath taught me to 
For health and the comforts it bears on its wing, 
Let me hope (O how soon it will lessen my 
anguish !) 
That To-morrow will ease and serenity bring. 

When traveling alone, quite forlorn, unbefriended, 
Sweet the hope, that To-morrow my wan d'rings 
will cease : 

That at home, with all care sympathetic attended, 
I shall rest unmolested, and slumber in peace. 

Or, when from the friends of my heart long 

The fond expectation with joy how replete ! 
Thatfromfar-distantregions, by Providence guided, 

To-morrow will see us most happily meet. 


When six days of labour each other succeeding, 
With hurry and toil have my spirits oppress 'd, 

What pleasure to think, as the last is receding, 
To-morrow will be a sweet sabbath of rest. 

And when the vain shadows of time are retiring, 
When life is fast fleeting, and death is in sight. 

The Christian believing, exulting, expiring, 
Beholds a To morrow of endless delight. 

J. Brown. 

€\t (Dffrang. 

With blood — but not his own — the awful sign 

At once of sin's desert and guilt's remission, 
The Jew besought the clemency divine, 

The hope of mercy blending with contrition. 
Sin must have death ! Its holy requisition 

The law may not relax. The opening tomb 
Expects its prey ! mere respite, life's condition ; 

Nor can the body shun its penal doom. 
Yet, there is mercy : wherefore else delay 

To punish ? *Why the victim and the rite? 
But can the type and symbol take away 

The guilt, and for a broken law requite ? 
The Cross unfolds the mystery : Jesus died : 

The sinner lives : the law is satisfied ! 
k 3 


With blood — but not his own — the Jew drew near 

The mercy-seat, and heaven received his prayer 
Yet still his hope was dimm'd by doubt and fear : 

"If thou shouldst mark transgression, who might 
To stand before Thee ! " Mercy loves to spare 

And pardon, but stern Justice has a voice, 
And cries — -" Our God is holy, nor can bear 

Uncleanness in the people of his choice." 
But now one Offering, ne'er to be renew'd, 

Hath made our peace for ever. This now gives 
Free access to the Throne of Heavenly Grace. 

No more base fear and dark disquietude, 
He who was slain — the accepted Victim — lives, 

And intercedes before the Father's face. 


/itmittll to n Uiparbfc /rani 

Thou art gone to the grave — but we will not de- 
plore thee ; 
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the 
The Saviour has passed through its portals before 
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through 
the gloom. 


Thou art gone to the grave — we no longer behold 
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy 
But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold 
And sinners may hope, since the sinless has 

Thou art gone to the grave — and its mansion for- 
Perhaps thy weak spirit in fear linger'd long ; 
But the mild ray of Paradise beam'd on its 
And the song which thou heard'st was the sera- 
phim's song! 

Thou art gone to the grave — but 'twere wrong to 
deplore thee, 
When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy 
He gave thee and took thee, and soon will restore 
Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour 
hath died. 



Another year ! another year, 

Is borne by time away ; 
Nor pauses yet his swift career, 
Nor tires his wings, nor makes he here 

E'en one short hour's delay. 

But hurries on ; and round, and round, 

The wheel of life is sped ; 
Unnoted of, until rebound 
Upon the ear, the startling sound, 

"Another year has fled." 

Who ever said, "TisNew Year's Day," 

With unmix'd care or glee ? 
For Hope still paints the future gay, 
And Memory o'er the past will stray, 
With sorrowing constancy. 

Yet blest if they but there behold 

The grave of well- spent days; 
The joy of gratitude that told 
The tear, in patient trust that roll'd — 
The Christian's hallow'd bays. 


Another year ! so swift it flew, 

We scarce had mark'd it ours ; 
Ere, fading from our backward view, 
Tis but the past our eyes pursue ; 

Eternity's long hours ! 

'Tis New Year's Day ! the coming year 

All blank before us lies; 
O may no blot or stain appear. 
To mar its history written here, 

When publish/d in the skies ! 

'Tis New Year's Day ! How oft have I, 

While yet a simple child, 
Made it the goal from whence to try, 
That race to run, which to the sky 

Can guide through Time's dark wild ! 

The sky, that home of quiet rest, 

When life's poor dream is o'er, 
Where spirits mingle with the blest, 
And sorrow in the aching breast 

Shall reign, to vex no more ! 

E. Dickinson 


€§t €miifoim. 

City of God ! Jerusalem, 
Why rushes out thy living stream ? 
The turban* d priest, the hoary seer, 
The Roman in his pride, are there ! 
And thousands, tens of thousands, still 
Cluster round Calvary's wild hill. 

Still onward rolls the living tide, 

There rush the bridegroom and the bride ; 

Prince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee ; 

The old, the young, the bond, the free ; 

The nation's furious multitude, 

All maddening with the cry of blood. 

'Tis glorious morn ; from height to height 
Shoot the keen arrows of the light ; 
And glorious, in their central shower, 
Palace of holiness and power, 
The temple on Moriah's brow 
Looks a new-risen sun below. 

But woe to hill, and woe to vale ! 
Against them shall come forth a wail : 
And woe to bridegroom and to bride ! 
For death shall on the whirlwind ride : 
And woe to thee, resplendent shrine, 
The sword is out for thee and thine. 


Hide, hide thee in the heavens, thou sun, 
Before the deed of blood is done ! 
Upon the temple's haughty steep 
Jerusalem's last angels weep ; 
They see destruction's funeral pall 
Black'ning o'er Sion's sacred wall. 

Like tempests gathering on the shore, 
They hear the coming army's roar ; 
They see in Sion's halls of state 
The sign that maketh desolate ; 
The idol standard, pagan spur, 
The tomb, the flamer, the massacre. 

They see the vengeance fall ! the chain, 

The long, long age of guilt and pain : 

The exile's thousand desperate years, 

The more than groans, the more than tears : 

Jerusalem, a vanish'd name — 

Its tribes earth's warning, scoff, and shame. 

Still pours along the multitude, 

Still rends the heavens the shout of blood : 

But in the murderers' furious van. 

Who totters on ? A weary man ; 

A cross upon his shoulder bound ; 

His brow, his frame, one gushing wound. 

And now he treads on Calvary. 
What slave upon that hill must die ? 


What hand, what heart, in guilt imbrued, 
Must be the mountain vulture's food ! 
There stand two victims, gaunt and bare, 
Two culprit emblems of despair. 

Yet who the Third ? The yell of shame 

Is frenzied at the sufferer's name. 

Hands clench'd, teeth gnash'd, and vestures torn, 

The curse, the taunt, the laugh of scorn, 

All that the dying hour can sting, 

Are round thee now, thou thorn-crown' d king! 

Yet cursed and tortured, taunted, spurn'd, 
No wrath is for the wrath return'd; 
No vengeance flashes from the eye : 
The Sufferer calmly waits to die ; 
The sceptre-reed, the thorny crown, 
Wake on that pallid brow no frown. 

At last the word of death is given, 
The form is bound, the nails are driven : 
Now triumph, Scribe and Pharisee ! 
Now Roman, bend the mocking knee ! 
The cross is rear'd. The deed is done, 
There stands Messiah's earthly throne ! 

This was the earth's consummate hoar, 
For this hath blazed the prophet's power; 
For this hath swept the conqueror's sword ; 
Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored; 


Persepolis, Rome, Babylon, 

For this ye sunk, for this ye shone. 

Yet things to which earth's brightest beam 
Were darkness, earth itself a dream, 
Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid 
Sublime, when sun and stars shall fade ; 
Worlds upon worlds, eternal things, 
Hung on thy anguish, King of kings ! 

Still from his lip no curse has come, 
His lofty eye has look'd no doom ! 
No earthquake burst, no angel brand ; 
Curses the black, blaspheming band : 
What say those lips by anguish riven ? 
"God, be my murderers forgiven !" 

He dies ! in whose high victory 
The slayer, Death, himself shall die. 
He dies ! by whose all-conquering tread 
Shall yet be crush' d the serpent's head ; 
From his proud throne to darkness hurl'd, 
The god and tempter of this world. 

He dies ! Creation's awful Lord, 

Jehovah, Christ, Eternal word ! 

To come in thunder from the skies ; 

To bid the buried world arise ; 

The earth his footstool ; heaven his throne ; 

Redeemer, may thy will be done ! 




%ixh nf ^ mag*. 

Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing ! 
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring ? 
— " We come from the shores of the green old Nile, 
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile. 
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, 
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby. 

" We have swept o'er cities in song renown'd — 

Silent they lie with the deserts round ; 

We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd, 

All dark with the warrior-blood of old ; 

And each worn wing hath regain' d its home. 

Under peasant's roof- tree, or monarch's dome." 

And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, 
Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam ? 
— " We have found a change, we have found a pall, 
And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, 
And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt, — 
Nought looks the same, save the nest we built." 

O joyous birds ! it hath still been so; 

Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go ; 


But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep, 
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep, 
Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot, 
Since last ye parted from that sweet spot ? 

— "A change we have found there, and many a 

change ! 
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange ! - 
(rone are the heads of the silvery hair, 
And the young that were, have a brow of care, 
And the place is hush'd where the children play'd, 
Nought looks the same save the nest we made ! " 

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, 
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth ! 
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air, 
Ye have a Guide, and shall we despair ? 
Ye over desert and deep have pass'd — 
So may we reach our bright home at last ! 

Mrs. Hemans, 


€\)t (Dffrattg, 

I see them fading round me, 

The beautiful, the bright, 
As the rose-red lights that" darken 

At the falling of the night. 

I had a lute, whose music 

Made sweet the summer wind ; 

But the broken strings have vanish'd, 
And no song remains behind. 

I had a lovely garden, 

Fruits and flowers on every bough ; 
But the frost came too severely — 

'Tis decayed and blighted now. 

That lute is like my spirits — 

They have lost their buoyant tone ; 

Crush'd and shattered, they've forgotten. 
The glad notes once their own . 

And my mind is like that garden — 

It has spent its early store; 
And, wearied and exhausted, 

It has no strength for more. 


I will look on them as warnings, 

Sent less in wrath than love, 
To call the being homeward 

To its other home above. 

As the Lesbian in false worship, 
Hung her harp u^on the shrine 

When the world lost its attraction. 
So will I offer mine :— 

But in another spirit, 

With a higher hope and aim, 
And in a holier temple, 

And to a holier name, 

I offer up affections, 

Void, violent, and vain ; 
I offer years of sorrow 

Of the mind, and body's pain ; 

I offer up my memory — 

'Tis a drear and darken'd page, 
Where experience has been bitter, 

And whose youth has been like age ; 

I offer hopes whose folly 

Only after-thoughts can know ; 
For instead of seeking heaven 

They were chain' d to earth below : 


Saying, " Wrong and grief have brought me 

" To thy altar as a home : 
" I am sad and broken-hearted, 

" And therefore am I come. 

" Let the incense of my sorrow 

" Be on high a sacrifice : 
" The worn and contrite spirit 

" Thou alone wouldst not despise I " 

L. E. L. 

€ty $M Ijririt 

" Thou can'st not tell whence it cometh, and whitheb 


Mysterious in its birth 

And viewless as the blast ; 
Where hath the spirit fled from earth 
For ever past ? 

I ask the grave below — 

It keeps the secret well ; 
I call upon the heavens to show— 
They will not tell. 


Of earth's remotest strand, 

Are tales and tidings known ; 
But from the spirit's distant land, 
Returneth none . 

Winds waft the breath of flowers 

To wanderers o'er the wave, 
But no message from the bowers 
Beyond the grave. 

Proud Science scales the skies 

From star to star to roam, 
But reacheth not the shore where lies 
The spirit's home. 

Impervious shadows hide 

This mystery of heaven ; 
But, where all knowledge is denied, 
To hope is given ! 

John Malcolm. 


dearth raft Iwnmi 

There is grief, there is grief — there is wringing of 

And weeping and calling for aid ; 
For Sorrow hath summon' d her group, and it stands 

Round the couch where the sufferer is laid. 
And lips are all pallid, and cheeks are all cold, 

And tears from the heart- springs are shed ; 
Yet who that looks on, the calm saint to behold, 

But would gladly lie down in her stead ! 

There is grief, there is grief — there is anguish and 

See the sufferer is toiling for breath ; 
For the spirit will cling (O, how fondly !) to life, 

And stern is the struggle with Death ! 
But the terrible conflict grows deadlier still, 

Till the last fatal symptoms have birth ; 
And the eye-ball is glazed, and the heart-blood is 
chill ; 

And this is the portion of Earth ! 


There is bliss, there is bliss in the regions above, 

They have open'd the gates of the sky ; 
A spirit has soar'd to those mansions of love, 

And seeks for admittance on high ; 
And friends long divided are hasting to greet 

To a land, where no sorrow may come, 
And the seraphs are eager a sister to meet, 

And welcome the child to its home. 

There is bliss, there is bliss at the foot of the throne, 

See the spirit all purified bend ; 
And it beams with delight, since it gazes alone 

On the face of a father, a friend ! 
Then it joins in the anthems for ever that rise, 

And its frailtv or folly forgiven, 
It is dead to the earth, and new-born to the skies, 

And this is the, portion of Heaven ! 

C. F. Richardson. 


€ije mijui 

He waved his wand ! dark spirits knew 
That rod — yet none obey'd its call ; 

And twice the mystic sign he drew, 
And twice beheld them bootless all : 

Then knew the seer Jehovah's hand, 

And crush' d the scroll and broke the wand ! 

" I feel Him like a burning fire — 

When I would curse, my lips are dumb ; 

But from those lips, mid hate and ire, 
Uncheck'd the words of blessing come; 

They come — and on his people rest, 

A people by the curser blest ! 

" I see them from the mountain -top, — 
How fair their dwellings on the plain ; 

Like trees thai? crown the valley's slope, 

Like waves that glitter on the main I f 

Strong, strong the lion slumbering there — % 

Who first shall rouse him from his lair ? 

" Crouch, Amalek — and thou, vain king ! 

Crouch by thine altars — vainer still ! 
Hear ye the royal shouts that ring 

From Israel's camp beneath the hill ? 
They have a God amidst their tents, 
Banner at once, and battlements ! 



" A star shall break through yonder skies, 
And beam on every nation's sight , 

From yonder ranks a sceptre rise, 
And bow the nations to its might : 

I see their glorious strength afar — 

All hail, mild sceptre ! hail, bright Star ! 

" And who am I, for whom is flung 
Aside the shrouding veil of time ? 

The seer whose rebel-soul is wrung 
By wrath, and prophecy, and crime, 

The future as the past I see — 

Woe, then, for Moab ! woe for me ! " 

3n Peor's top the wizard stood, 

Around him Moab's princes bow'd: 
le bade — and altars streamed with blood, 
And incense wrapped him like a shroud ! 
)ut vain the rites of earth and hell — 
Ae spake — a maater'd oracle ! 

Miss Jewsbury. 


Stkrat Itfttni 

The chariot ! the chariot ! its wheels roll in fire, 
As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of his ire : 
Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud, 
And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are 

The glory ! the glory ! around him are poured 
The myriads of angels that wait on the Lord ; 
And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there, 
And all who the palm- wreaths of victory wear. 

The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard; 
Lo, the depths of the stone-covered monuments 

stirr'd ! 
From ocean and earth, from the south pole and north, 
Lo, the vast generations of ages come forth ! 

The judgment ! the judgment ! the thrones are all set, 
Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met; 
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord, 
And the doom of eternity hangs on his word. 

O mercy ! O mercy ! Look down from above, 
Redeemer, on us, thy sad children, with love ! 
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven 
May our justified souls find a welcome in heaven ! 



$jp> f tlgrxm r s Inntf ♦ 

There are climates of sunshine, of beauty and 

Where roses are nourishing all the year long; 
Their bowers are despoil' d not by wintery sadness, 

And their echoes reply to the nightingale's song: 
But coldly the Briton regards their temptations, 

Condemn'd from his friends and his kindred to 
He looks on the brightness of lovelier nations, 

But his heart and his wishes still turn to his home. 

O why is this duteous and home-loving feeling 

So seldom displayed by the Pilgrim of Life ? 
While faith to his mind a bright scene is revealing, 

He toils through a world of sin, sorrow, and strife : 
Yet, lured by the paltry attractions around him, 

Too oft he forgets the pure pleasure to come, 
And wildly foregoes for the toys that surround him, 

His hopes of a lasting, a glorious Home. 

Not such is the Christian : — devoted, believing, 
Through storm and through sunshine his trust 
shall abide : 

The way that he wends may be dark or deceiving, 
But heaven ishis shrine, and the Lord ishis Guide ; 

130 a mother's love. 

And when death's warning angel around him shall 
He dreads not the mandate that bidshim to come ; 
It tells that his toils and temptations are over — 
Tis the voice of his Father : it calls to his Home. 


% #fotJiH:'a tm. 

Hast thou sounded the depth of yonder sea, 
And counted the sands that under it be ? 
Hast thou measured the height of heaven above ? 
Then may'st thou mete out a mother's love. 

Hast thou talk'd with the blessed, of leading on 
To the throne of God some wandering son ? 
Hast thou witness'd the angels' bright employ? 
Then may'st thou speak of a mother's joy. 

Evening and morn hast thou watch'd the bee 
Go forth on her errands of industry ? 
The bee for herself hath gather'd and toil'd, 
But the mother's cares are all for her child. 

Hast thou gone with the traveller Thought afar. 
From pole to pole, and from star to star ? 
Thou hast — but on ocean, earth, or sea, 
The heart of a mother has gone with thee. 


There is not a grand, inspiring thought, 
There is not a truth by wisdom taught, 
There is not a feeling pure and high, 
That may not be read in a mother's eye. 

And ever since earth began that look 
Has been to the wise an open book, 
To win them back from the love they prize, 
To the holier love that edifies. 

There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air, 
The heavens the glory of God declare ! 
But more loud than the voice beneath, above, 
He is heard to speak through a mother's love. 

Emily Taylor. 

To mark the sufferings of the babe 

That cannot speak its woe ; 
To see the infant tears gush forth, 

Yet know not why they flow; 
To meet the meek uplifted eye, 

That fain would ask relief, 
Yet can but gaze in agony : 

This is a mother's grief. 

132 the mother's grief. 

Through dreary days and darker nights, 

To trace the march of death ; 
To hear the faint and frequent sigh, 

The quick and shorten'd breath ; 
To watch the last dread strife draw near, 

And pray that struggle brief, 
Though all is ended with its close : 

This is a mother's grief. 

To see in one short hour decayed 

The hope of future years ; 
To feel how vain a father's prayers* 

How vain a mother's tears ; 
To think the cold grave now must close 

O'er what was once the chief 
Of all the treasured joys on earth : 

This is a mother's grief* 

Yet when the first wild throb is past 

Of anguish and despair, 
To lift the eye of faith to heaven, 

And think "my child is there ! " 
This best can dry the gushing tears, 

This yield the heart relief, 
Until the Christian's pious hope 

O'ercomes a mother's grief. 

Rev. T. Dale. 


€ty Eraittg nf IDijoti 

Tis still thine hour, O Death! 

Thine, lord of Hades, is the kingdom still ; 
Yet twice thy sword unstain'd hath sought its 
Though twice upraised to kill ; 
And once again the tomb 

Shall yield its captive prey ; 
A mightier arm shall pierce the pathless gloom, 
And rend the prize away : 
Nor comes thy Conqueror arm'd with spear or 

sword ; 
He hath no arms but prayer — no weapon but his 

'Tis now the fourth sad morn 

Since Lazarus the pious and the just, 
To his last home by sorrowing kinsmen b orne, 

Hath parted, dust to dust. 
The grave -worm revels now 

Upon his mouldering clay : 
And He, before whose car the mountains bow, 
The rivers roll away 
In conscious awe — He only can revive 
Corruption's withering prey, and call the dead to live ! 
m 3 


Yet still the sisters keep 

Their sad and silent vigil at the grave, 
Watching for Jesus — "Comes he not to weep? 

He did not come to save ! *' 
But now one straining eye 

Th* advancing form hath traced ; 
And soon in wild, resistless agony- 
Have Martha's arms embraced 
The Saviour's feet — " O Lord, hadst thou been 

nigh — 
But speak the word e'en now — it shall be heard 
on high ! " 

They led him to the cave, 

The rocky bed, where now in darkness slept 
Their brother and His friend ; then at the grave 

They paused — for "Jesus wept." 
O Love sublime and deep ! 

O Hand land Heart divine ! 
He comes to rescue though he deigns to weep : 
The captive is not thine, 
O Death: thy bands are burst asunder now — 
There stands beside the grave a Mightier far than 

"Come forth," he cried, "thou dead!" 

O God! what means that strange and sudden 


That murmurs from the tomb — that ghastly head, 
With funeral fillets bound ? 


The loved, the lost, the won, 
Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm; 
" And is not this the Son 
Of God? " men whispered — while the sisters pour'd 
Their gratitude in tears ; for they had known the 

Yet now the son of God — 

For such he was in truth — approached the 
For which alone the path of thorns he trod ; 

In which to thee the power, 
O Death, should be restored — 

And yet restored in vain — 
For though the blood of ransom must be pour'd, 
The spotless victim slain, • 
He shall but yield to conquer, fall to rise, 
And make the cold dark grave, a portal to the 
skies ! 

Rev. T. Dale. 


ilrorq— f m fmfom. 

Unchristian thought ! on what pretence soe'er 
Of right, inherited, or else acquired ; 
Of loss or profit, or what plea you name, 
To buy and sell, to barter, whip, and hold 
In chains, a being of celestial make ; 
Of kindred form, and kindred faculties, 
Of kindred feelings, passions, thoughts, desires; 
Born free, and heir of an immortal hope ; 
Thought villainous, absurd, detestable, 
Unworthy to be harboured in a fiend ! 
And only over-reached in wickedness 
By that, birth too of earthly liberty, 
Which aimed to make a reasonable man 
By legislation think, and by the sword 
Believe. This was that liberty renowned, 
Those equal rights of Greece and Rome, where men 
All but a few, were bought and sold, and scourged, 
And killed, as interest or caprice enjoined ; 
In aftertimes talked of, writ of so much, 
That most, by sound and custom led away, 
Believed the essence answered to the name. 
Historians on this theme were long and warm ; 
Statesmen, drunk with the fumes of vain debate, 
In lofty, swelling phrase, called it perfection ; 


Philosophers its rise, advance, and fall, 

Traced carefully ; and poets kindled still, 

As memory brought it up, their lips were touched 

With fire, and uttered words which men adored. 

Even he, the bard of Zion, holy man, 

To whom the Bible taught this precious verse — 

" He is the freeman whom the truth makes free ! " — 

By fashion, though by fashion little swayed, 

Scarce kept his harp from pagan freedom's praise. 

The captive prophet, whom Jehovah gave 
The future years, described it best, when he 
Beheld it rise in vision of the night : 
A dreadful beast, and terrible, and strong 
Exceedingly, with mighty iron teeth ; 
And lo ! it brake in pieces, and devoured. 
And stamped the residue beneath its feet. 

True Liberty was Christian, sanctified, 
Baptized, and found in Christian hearts alone ; 
First-born of Virtue ! daughter of the skies ! 
Nursling of Truth divine ! sister of all 
The graces, meekness, holiness, and love ! 
Giving- to God, and man, and all below, 
That symptom showed of sensible existence, 
Their due unasked ; fear to whom fear was due ; 
To all, respect, benevolence, and love : 


Companion of Religion ! where she came, 
There Freedom came ; where dwelt, there Freedom 

dwelt ; 
Ruled where she ruled, expired when she expired. 

" He was the freeman whom the truth made free ! " 

"Who first of all the bands of Satan broke : 

Who broke the bonds of sin ; and for his soul, 

[n spite of fools consulted seriously ; 

In spite of fashion persevered in good ; 

In spite of wealth or poverty upright ; 

Who did as Reason, not as Fancy, bade ; 

Who heard Temptation sing, yet turned not 

Aside ; saw Sin bedeck her flowery bed, 

And yet would not go up ; felt at his heart 

The sword unsheathed, yet would not sell the truth; 

Who, having power, had not the will to hurt ; 

Who blushed alike to be, or have, a slave ; 

Who blushed at nought but sin, feared nought but 

Who, finally, in strong integrity 
Of soul, mid want, or riches, or disgrace, 
Uplifted, calmly sat, and heard the waves 
Of stormy folly breaking at his feet, 
Now shrill with praise, now hoarse with foul reproach, 
And both despised sincerely ; seeking this 
Alone — the approbation of his God. 
Which still with conscience witnessed to his peace. 


This, this is Freedom, such as angels use, 
And kindred to the liberty of God. 
First-born of Virtue ! daughter of the skies ; 
The man, the state, in whom she ruled, was free ! 
All else were slaves of Satan, Sin, and Death ! 


€\t Itoft mljirlj n %uk\ rauq torn. 

Though Earth has full many a beautiful spot, 

As a poet or painter might show : 
Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy, and bright, 
To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit's glad 

Is the land that no mortal may know. 

There the crystalline stream bursting forth from the 

Flows on, and for ever will flow ; 
Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife, 
And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life, 

In the land which no mortal may know. 

And there on its margin, with leaves ever green, 
With its fruits healing sickness and woe, 

The fair Tree of Life, in its glory and pride, 

Is fed by that deep inexhaustible tide 
Of the land which no mortal may know. 


There, too, are the lost, whom we loved on this 

With whose mem'ries our bosoms yet glow ! 
Their relics we gave to the place of the dead, 
But their glorified spirits before us have lied 

To the land which no mortal may know. 

There the pale orb of night, and the fountain of day, 

Nor beauty nor splendour bestow ; 
But the presence of Him, the unchanging I AM, % 
And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb, 

Light the land which no mortal may know. 

O who but must pine, in this dark vale of tears, 

From its clouds and its shadows to go — 
To walk in the light of the glory above, 
And to share in the peace and the joy and the love 
Of the land which no mortal may know ? 

Bernard Barton, 


fnrantg €imh 

Zech. xiv. 7. 

At evening time let there be light ! 
Life's little day draws near its close ; 

Around me fall the shades of night, 
The night of death, the grave's repose : 
To crown my joys, to end my woes, 

At evening time let there be light! 

At evening time let there be light ! 

Stormy and dark hath been my day ; 
Yet rose the morn divinely bright, 

Dews, birds, and blossoms, cheer' d the way ; 

O for one sweet, one parting ray ! 
At evening time let there be light ! 

At evening time there shall be light — 
For God hath spoken — it must be : 

Fear, doubt, and anguish, take their flight, 
His glory now is risen on me ! 
Mine eyes shall his salvation see : 

'Tis evening time, and there is light ! 

James Montgomery. 


"»atr|r fy" 

Mark xiv. 38. 

When Summer decks thy path with flowers, 

And Pleasure's smile is sweetest ; 
When not a cloud above thee lowers, 
And sunshine leads thy happy hours, 

Thy happiest and thy fleetest : 
O watch thou then, lest Pleasure's smile 
Thy spirit of its hope beguile ! 

When round thee gathering storms are nigh, 

And grief thy days hath shaded ; 
When earthly joys but bloom to die, 
And tears suffuse thy weeping eye, 

And Hope's bright bow hath faded ; 
O watch thou then, lest anxious Care 
Invade thy heart, and rankle there! 

Through all life's scenes — through weal and woe, 
Through days of mirth and sadness, 

Where'er thy wandering footsteps go — 

O think how transient here below 
Thy sorrow and thy gladness ; 

And watch thou always, lest thou stray 

From Him who points the heavenward way. 




Harps of eternity ! begin the song ; 
Redeem'd and angel harps ! begin to God, 
Begin the anthem ever sweet and new, 
While I extol Him, holy, just, and good. 
Life, beauty, light, intelligence and love ! 
Eternal, uncreated, infinite ! 
Unsearchable Jehovah ! God of truth ! 
Maker, Upholder, Governor of all : 
Thyself unmade, ungoverned, un-upheld. 
Mysterious more, the more displayed, where still 
Upon thy glorious throne Thou sitt'st alone ; 
Hast sat alone, and shalt for ever sit 
Alone ; invisible, immortal One ! 
Behind essential brightness unbeheld. 
Incomprehensible ! what weight shall weigh ? 
What measures measure Thee ? What know we 

Of Thee (what need to know ?) than Thou hast 

And bid'st us still repeat, at morn and even ? 
God ! everlasting Father ! holy One ! 
Our God, our Father, our eternal All ! 
Source whence we came, and whither we return ; 
Who made the heaven, who made the flowery land; 
Thy works all praise Thee ; all Thy angels praise ; 

144 PRAISE. 

Thy saints adore, and on Thy altars burn 

The fragrant incense of perpetual love ; 

They praise Thee now ; their hearts, their voices 

And swell the rapture of the glorious song. 
Harp, lift thy voice on high — shout, angels, shout ! 
And loudest, ye redeem'd ! Glory to God, 
And to the Lamb who bought us with his blood, 
From every kindred, nation, people, tongue ; 
And wash'd and sanctified and saved our souls ; 
And gave us robes of linen pure, and crowns 
Of life, and made us kings and priests to God. 
Shout back to ancient Time! sing loud, and wave 
Your palms of triumph ! sing, Where is thy sting, 
O Death ? Where is thy victory, O Grave ? 
Thanks be to God, eternal thanks, who gave 
Us victory through Jesus Christ our Lord. 
Harp, lift thy voice on high ! shout, angels, shout ! 
And loudest, ye redeem'd! Glory to God, 
And to the Lamb, all glory and all praise : 
All glory, and all praise, at morn and even, 
That come and go eternally ; and find 
Us happy still, and thee for ever blest. 
Glory to God and to the Lamb. Amen. 
For ever and for evermore. Amen. 



€ty (Clirak 

When first the day-beam bless' d the sky, 

I mark'd the varied clouds on high ; 

The clouds through which the sunlight broke, 

As if it came from heaven, and woke 

Their sleepy shadows into smiles, 

And wooed them with a thousand wiles. 

Those at a distance yet were cold 

And dull and naked after night ; 
But towards. the East they onward rolTd, 

And clad them in a robe of light. 
Others as if they loved to dwell 

In darkness moved but slowly on, 
And when on them its brightness fell, 

But little of their gloom had gone. 
One, gloomier still, its course delays, 

As though too heavy for the sky, 

Then breaks and passes gaily by. 
While some had gather' d round the rays 
That gave them hues and forms so fair. 

As loth to leave that glorious place, 

To lose their beauty, and to trace 
Their pathway through the murky air. 
I mark'd, when day was at its height, 

Others of many a varied dye, 
More fair of form, more purely bright, 

Than those that deck'dthe morning sky. 
n 3 


And gazed, till over all on high 
The sun held undisputed sway, 
And chased from heaven all gloom away ; 
While the few clouds that o'er it past 
No beam obscured, no shadow cast. 

But when the day was almost done, 
The clouds were beautiful indeed, 
When from his daily duty freed, 
Still in his glorious strength, the sun 
Shone forth upon the twilight skies, 
And graced them with his myriad dyes. 
I saw the clouds that onward drew, 
From out the deep and distant blue, 
Become all beautiful and bright, 
As if to show the coming night 
How great the radiance and the power 
E'en of the sun's departing hour. 
They took all shapes, as Fancy wrought 
Her web and mingled thought with thought. 
Some like familiar forms — the themes 
Of early loves that fade to dreams ; 
Some were of rainbow shapes and hues , 
Some glistening, like our earth, with dews ; 
Some were like forests seen afar ; 
Some like the restless wandering star ; 
While some appear'd like coral caves, 
Half hidden by the ocean's waves, 

All cover'd with their snow-white spray ; 


Others there were, which seem'd to be 
Fair islands in a dark blue sea, 
Which human eyes at eve behold ; 

But only then — unseen by day 
Their shores and mountains all of gold. 
They vanish' d as the night came on — 
Those varied hues and forms were gone : 
But in their stead, Reflection woke 
To teach her lesson — thus she spoke : 

" Those very clouds, so bright, so gay, 
So fair — are vapours which the earth 
Flung, as diseased parts, away — 

Foul mists which owe their second birth 
To Him who keeps his throne on high, 
To bless the earth and gild the sky. 
Yes ! 'tis the sun whose influence brings 
A change to these degraded things, 
That gives them lovely forms, and then 

Deprives them of their baneful powers, 
And sends to mother Earth again, 

In gentle dews and cheering showers, 
What was her burden and her ban. 
Man feels a change as great — when man 
Feels that immortal spark within 
Whose might no human tongue can tell, 
Which shines to lighten and dispel 

The darkness and the weight of sin ; 
When He, who form'd Creation's whok, 

148 NIGHT. 

To school and guide the human soul 
Bids, o'er the intellectual skies, 
The Sun of Righteousness arise, 
And things of heaven and earth assume 
Their proper shade of light or gloom." 

Now, let the contemplative mind 
Fill up the blank I leave behind ; 
And see through all Creation's plan 
Some useful lesson taught to man ; 
Compare the changes wrought within, 

And those without — by nature wrought — 
Compare the man who lives in sin, 

And him by virtue led and taught : 
See how the Christian's shining light 
Makes all that once was darkness, bright ; 
And see how like the clouds on high, 

His every feeling every thought, 
Adorn and bless the mental sky, 
And then his glories never die ! 

S. C. Hall. 


Night is the time for rest ! 

How sweet, when labours close, 
To gather round an aching breast 

The curtain of repose ! 

NIGHT. 149 

Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head 
Upon our own delightful bed. 

Night is the time for dreams ; 

The gay romance of life, 
When truth that is, and truth that seems, 

Blend in fantastic strife ; 
All ! visions less beguiling far 
Than waking dreams by daylight are ! 

Night is the time for toil ; 

To plough the classic field, 
Intent to find the buried spoil 

Its wealthy farrows yield ; 
Till all is ours that sages taught, 
That poets sang, or heroes wrought. 

Night is the time to weep ; 

To wet with unseen tears 
Those graves of memoiy, where sleep 

The joys of other years, 
Hopes that were angels in their birth f 
But perish' d young, like things of earth. 

Night is the time to watch 

On ocean's dark expanse ; 
To hail the Pleiades, or catch 

The full moon's earliest glance, 
That brings into the home- sick mind 
All we have loved and left behind. 

150 NIGHT. 

Night is the time for Care ; 

Brooding on hours mis- spent, 
To see the spectre of Despair 

Come to our lonely tent ; 
Like Brutus 'midst his slumbering host, 
Startled by Caesar's stalwart ghost. 

Night is the time to muse ; M 

Then from the eye the soul 
Takes flight, and with expanding views, 

Beyond the starry pole 
Descries, athwart the abyss of night 
The dawn of uncreated light. 

Night is the time to pray ; 

Our Saviour oft withdrew 
To desert mountains far away ; 

So will his followers do — 
Steal from the throng to haunts untrod, 
And hold communion there with God, 

Night is the time for death ; 

When all around is peace, 
Calmly to yield the weary breath — 

From sin and suffering cease, 
Think of heaven's bliss, and give the sign 
To parting friends — such death be mine ! 



"<fym rranrinrtli & Erst for \\t |frnplr 
nf ml" 

When trials beset us, and earth's comforts fly, 

And nothing is seen in the future but gloom, 
How sweet are the tidings reveal' d from on high, 

That a happier world lies beyond the cold tomb ! 
O who would not gladly partake of the cares 

That accompany mortals remaining below, 
Since they're given to wean us away from the snares 

Of the tempter, who plunges his victims in woe ? 

The God who display 'd his compassionate love, 

By sending his Son for our sins to atone — 
If we trust in this Saviour — will take us above, 

Where sorrow and tears are for ever unknown. 
With prospects so glorious, why should we fear 

The few fleeting years yet on earth to be passed ? 
Every pain we endure without murmuring here, 

Will but heighten the glory of heaven at last ! 

"Eye hath not beheld, nor hath ear ever heard, 

" Nor can mortals the fulnessand glory conceive " 
Of the bliss which is promised in God's holy word, 

As reserved for His children who love and believe. 
Then may we in future more patiently bear 

Each stroke which our Father sees fit to impose, 
Assured that His presence, if ask'd for in prayer, 

Will sustain us till death all our trials shall close ! 
William Gurner. 


High in yonder realms of light, 

Far above these lower skies, 
Fair and exquisitely bright, 

Heaven's unfading mansions rise : 
Built of pure and massy gold, 

Strong and durable are they ; 
Deck'd with gems of worth untold, 

Subjected to no decay ! 

Glad within these blest abodes, 

Dwell the raptured saints above. 
Where no anxious care corrodes, 

Happy in Emanuel's love ! 
Once, indeed, like us below, 

Pilgrims in this vale of tears, 
Torturing pain and heavy woe, 

Gloomy doubts, distressing fears ! 

These, alas ! full well they knew, 

Sad companions of their way ; 
Oft on them the tempest blew, 

Through the long, the cheerless day ! 
Oft their vileness they deplored, 

Wills perverse, and hearts untrue, 
Grieved they could not love their Lcrd, 

Love him as they wish'd to do. 


Oft the big, unbidden tear, 

Stealing down the furrow'd cheek. 
Told, in eloquence sincere, 

Tales of woe they could not speak ; 
But these days of weeping o'er, 

Past this scene of toil and pain, 
They shall feel distress no more,- 

Never, never weep again ! 

'Mid the chorus of the skies, 

'Mid th' angelic lyres above, 
Hark! their songs melodious rise, 

Songs of praise to Jesu's love! 
Happy spirits ! ye are fled, 

Where no grief can entrance find ; 
Lull'd to rest the aching head, 

Soothed the anguish of the mind. 

All is tranquil and serene, 

Calm and undisturb'd repose ; 
There no cloud can intervene, 

There no angry tempest blows. 
Every tear is wiped away, 

Sigh no more shall heave the breast, 
Night is lost in endless day ; 

Sorrow, in eternal rest ! 




I stood on the banks of a swift-flowing river, 

While I mark'd its clear current roll speedily 
It seem'd to my fancy for ever repeating 

That the dearest enjoyment of life would not last. 
" Oh ! tell me," I said, " rapid stream of the valley, 

That bear'st in thy course the blue waters away, 
Can the joys of life's morning awake but to vanish, 

Can the feelings of love be all doom'd to decay? " 
An Echo repeated — " All doom'd to decay." 

"Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley, 

Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign, 
My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of Nature, 
AndFriend ship's delights, while they yet may be 
Must all the sweet charms of Mortality perish, 
And Friendship's endearments — ah! will they 
not stay? 
The simple enchantments of soft-blooming Nature,. 
And the pleasures of mind — Must they too fade 
away ? " 
The Echo slow answer'd — "They too fade away.' 1 

ECHO? 155 

"Then where/* I exclaimed, " is there hope for the 

A balm for his sorrow, a smile for his grief ? 
If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish, 

Where, where shall we seek for the surest relief?" 
"Ofly," said my soul, "to the feet of the Saviour — 

Believe in his mercy — for pardon now pray — 
With him there is fulness of joy and salvation, 

There gladness shall live, and shall never decay:" 
The Echo said sweetly — " Shall never decay." 


€\jt %umn. 

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, 
Than if day in its pride had array' d it; 

The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arch'd sky 
Look'd pure as the Spirit that made it. 

The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 
On the shadowy waves' playful motion : 

From the dim distant isle, till the beacon-fire blazed 
Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 


No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast 
Was heard in the wildly breathed numbers ; 

The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest, 
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers, 

I sigh'd as I look'd from the hill's gentle slope; 

All hush'd was the billows' commotion : 
And I thought that thebeacon look'd lovely as Hope, 

That star of life's tremulous ocean. 

The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 
Yet when my head rests on its pillow, 

Will memory sometimes rekindle the star, 
That blazed on the breast of the billow. 

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, 
And death stills the heart's last emotion, 

O then may the seraph of mercy arise, 
Like a star on eternity's ocean ! 

M. P. James. 


^totality mtfr 3tmirartalitt[, 

What is this Body ? — fragile, frail 

As vegetation's tenderest leaf — 
Transient as April's fitful gale, 

And as the flashing meteor brief. 

What is the Soul ? — eternal mind, 
Unlimited as thought's vast range — 

By grovelling matter unconfined, 

The same, while states and empires change. 

When long this miserable frame 
Has vanish'd from life's busy scene, 

This earth shall roll, that sun shall flame, 
As though this dust had never been. 

When suns have waned, and worlds sublime 

Their final revolutions told, 
This Soul shall triumph over Time, 

As though such orbs had never roll'd. 


Go, warrior, pluck the laurel bough, 
And bind it round thy reeking brow ! 
Ye sons of Pleasure, blithely twine 
A chaplet of the purple vine ! 
And, Beauty, cull each blushing flower, 
That ever deck'd the sylvan bower ! 
o 3 

158 Sharon's rose. 

No wreath is bright, no garland fair, 
Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there. 

The laurel branch will droop and die, 
The vine its purple fruit deny, 
The wreath that smiling beauty twined, 
Will leave no lingering bud behind ; 
For Beauty's wreath, and Beauty's bloom, 
In vain would shun the withering tomb, 
Where nought is bright and nought is fair, 
Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there. 

Bright blossom, of immortal bloom, 
Of fadeless hue, and sweet perfume : 
Far in the desert's dreary waste, 
In lone, neglected beauty placed! 
Let others seek the brilliant bower, 
And cull the frail and fading flower, 
But I'll to dreariest wilds repair, 
If Sharon's deathless Rose be there. 

When Nature's hand, with cunning care, 
No more the opening bud shall rear, 
But hurl'd by heaven's avenging Sire, 
Descends the earth's consuming fire, 
And Desolation's hurrying blast, 
O'er all the sadden'd scene has passed, 
There is a clime for ever fair, 
And Sharon's Rose shall flourish there! 



€ty €$mtkn. 

Shine on, thou bright sun, in yon summer-tinged 

And blow on, thou balmy gale : 
But thou canst not give joy to this sunken eye, 

Nor bloom to this cheek so pale: 
The primrose is lifting its golden head, 

The linnet spreads its wing : 
But delight with the moments of youth is ned ; 

The heart knows no second spring ! 

Time was — 'twas a feeling too sweet to last — 

When the present was all to me ! 
When no fear of the future, no pang of the past, 

O'ershadow'd the day of glee ; 
When the whole wide world was a dream of youth ; 

When the thought of deceit was unknown ; 
When the look was all love, and the vow was truth, 

'Twas a vision — the vision is gone ! 

But, O thou Spirit of love and power, 

Creator, Father, all ! 
Was the heart but made like the morning cloud, 

To breathe, and to bloom, and to fall? 
O why is our life a weary thing, 

Why Pleasure the Parent of pain, 
Why Friendship a vapour, a bird on the wing, 

Why all but the sepulchre vain ? 


Tis in mercy, thou Spirit of love and power, 

To tell us our home is not here ; 
That life has a brighter and loftier bower 

Than this vale of the sigh and tear ; 
That earth's but the passage, the grave but the gate, 

Which shows, when our travel is done, 
Where the sons of the stars in their glory await 

To lead the redeem' d to the throne. 

M. E. Beaufort 

€\t fclfr fa €mt 

If all our hopes and all our fears 

Were prison' d in life's narrow bound — 
If, travellers through this vale of tears, 

We saw no better world beyond — 
O what could check the rising sigh? 

What earthly thing could Pleasure give ? 
O who could venture then to die, 

Or who could venture then to live ? 

Were life a dark and desert moor, 

Where mists and clouds eternal spread 
Their gloomy veil behind, before, 

And tempests thunder over head ; 
Where not a sunbeam breaks the gloom 

And not a now'ret smiles beneath ; 
Who could exist in such a tomb ? 

Who dwell in darkness and in death? 


And such were life without the ray 

Of our divine religion given ; 
Tis this that makes our darkness day, 

Tis this that makes our earth a heaven. 
Bright is the golden sun above, 

And beautiful the flowers that bloom, 
And all is joy, and all is love, 

Reflected from the world to come ! 


€mfmi nhx Mtrtftra. 

When gathering clouds around I view, 
And days are dark, and friends are few, 
On Him 1 lean, who, not in vain, 
Experienced every human pain. 
He sees my griefs, allays my fears, 
And counts and treasures up my tears. 

If aught should tempt my soul to stray 
From heavenly Wisdom's narrow way ; 
To fly the good I would pursue, 
Or do the thing I would not do; 
Still He who felt temptation's power, 
Shall guard me in that dang'rous hour. 

If wounded love my bosom swell, 
Despised by those I prized too well ; 


He shall his pitying aid bestow, 
Who felt on earth severer woe ; 
At once betray'd, denied, or fled, 
By those who shared his daily bread. 

When vexing thoughts within me rise, 
And, sore dismay'd, my spirit dies; 
Yet He who once vouchsafed to hear 
The sickening anguish of despair, 
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry 
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. 

When mourning o'er some stone I bend, 
Which covers all that was a friend ; 
And from his voice, his hand, his smile, 
Divides me for a little while ; 
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, 
For thou didst weep o'er Laz'rus dead. 

And O, when I have safely pass'd 
Through every conflict but the last, 
Still, still, unchanging, watch beside 
My painful bed, — for Thou hast died ; 
Then point to realms of cloudless day, 
And wipe the latest tear away. 

R. Grant. 


Wtkm Itpm 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
His father's God before him moved, 

An awful Guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonish'd lands, 

The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 
By night, Arabia's crimson' d sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer'd keen : 
And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays 

With priests, and warriors' voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosp'rous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen, 

To temper the deceitful ray ! 
And O, when stoops on Judah's path, 

The shade and storm, and frequent night; 
Be Thou, long-suff'ring, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light. 


Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, "The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are more accepted sacrifice." 

Sir Walter Scott. 


Ah ! why should this immortal mind, 
Enslaved by sense, be thus confined, 

And never, never rise ? 
Why thus amused with empty toys, 
And soothed with visionary joys, 

Forget her native skies ? 

The mind was form'd to mount sublime, 
Beyond the narrow bounds of time, 

To everlasting things ! 
But earthly vapours cloud her sight, 
And hang with cold oppressive weight 

Upon her drooping wings. 


The world employs its various snares, 
Of hopes and pleasures, pains and cares, 

And chain' d to earth I lie : 
When shall my fetter'd powers be free, 
And leave these seats of vanity, 

And upwards learn to fly ? 

Bright scenes of bliss, unclouded skies, 
Invite my soul — O could I rise, 

Nor leave a thought below ! 
I'd bid farewell to anxious care, 
And say to every tempting snare, 

" Heaven calls, and I must go." 

Heaven calls! and can I yet delay — 
Can aught on earth engage my stay ? 

Ah! wretched, lingering heart! 
Come, Lord, with strength, and life, and light, 
Assist and guide my upward flight, 

And bid the world depart. 

Mrs. Steele. 


€$m is n Wwtib m jura* rat hob. 

There is a world we have not seen, 
Which cruel Time shall ne'er destroy ; 

Where mortal footstep hath not been, 
Nor ear hath caught its sounds of joy. 

There is a region lovelier far 
Than sages tell or poets sing; 

Brighter than summer beauties are, 
And softer than the tints of spring. 

It is all holy and serene, 

This land of glory and repose : 

And there, to dim the radiant scene, 
The tear of Sorrow never flows. 

It is not fann'd by summer gale, 

Tis not refresh' d by summer showers, 

It never needs the moonbeam pale, 

For there are known no evening hours. 

In vain the philosophic eye 

May seek to view the fair abode, 

Or find it in the curtain' d sky — 
It is the dwelling-place of God. 



% %w ^mx'% Mm 

Once more, " A New Year's Eve ! " My strain 

"With sober thoughts — with such it well may end : 
For when, O when should these come home to man, 

With such a season if they may not blend ? 
My gentle reader, let an unknown friend 

Remind thee of the ceaseless lapse of time ! 
Nor will his serious tone thine ear offend, 

If love may plead his pardon for the crime 
Of blending solemn truth with minstrel's simple 

I would not trifle merely, though the world 

Be loudest in their praise who do no more ; 
A standard is uplifted and unfurl' d ; 

The summons has gone forthfrom shore to shore; 
In Thought's still pause, in Passion's loud uproar, 

Thine ear has heard that gentle voice serene, 
Deep, but not loud, behind thee and before ; 

Thine inward eye that banner too hath seen — 
Hast thou obeyed the call, or still a loiterer been ? 

Canst thou forget, who first on Calvary's height, 
Lifted that glorious banner up on high, 

While heaven above was wrapp'd in starless night, 
And earth, convulsed with horror, heard the cry, 

168 A new year's eve. 

"Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani ! " 

Look back upon the hour of grief and pain ; 
For thee He came to suffer, and to die ! 

The blood He shed must be thy boon or bane, 
Let conscience answer which ! He hath not died in 

Christ died for all. But in that general debt 

He bled to cancel — dost not thou partake ? 
Is thine, too, blotted out ? O do not set 

Upon a doubtful issue such a stake ! 
Each faculty of soul and sense awake ; 

Trust not a general truth which may be vain 
To thee ; but rather, for thy Saviour's sake, 

And for thine own, some evidence attain : 
For thee indeed He died — for thee hath risen again. 

Are thy locks white with many long-past years? 

One more is dawning : which thy last maybe. 
Art thou in middle age, by worldly fears 

And hopes surrounded ? Set thy spirit free, 
More awful fears, more glorious hopes to see. 

Art thou in blooming youth ? Thyself engage 
To serve and honour Him who unto thee 

Would be a Guide and Guard through life's first 
Wisdom in manhood's strength, and greenness in 
old age. 

Bernard Barton. 



€jre Haiubnirr. 

The evening was glorious, and light through the 

Play'd the sunshine and rain-drops, the birds and 

the breeze ; 
The landscape, outstretching in loveliness, lay- 
On the lap of the year in the beauty of May. 

For the Queen of the Spring, as she pass'd down the 

Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the 

And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, 
And flush in her footsteps sprang herbage and 


The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd, 
O'erthe west threw their splendour of azure and gold ; 
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased, 
Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east. 

We gazed on the scenes, while around us they glow'd, 
When a vision of beauty appear'd on the cloud; 
'Twas not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, 
Nor the moon, that rolls nightly through starlight 
and blue. 

p 3 


Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm ! 
And the eye and the heart hail'd its beautiful form'; 
For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
But a garment of brightness illumed its dark path. 

Sublime in the hues of its grandeur it stood, 
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; 
And river, field, village, and woodlands, grewbright, 
As conscious they gave and afforded delight. 

'Twas the bow of Omnipotence ! bent in his hand, 
Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd ; 
'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime — 
His vow from the flood to the exit of time ! 

Not dreadful as when in the whirlwind he pleads, 
AY hen storms are his chariot, and lightnings his 

steeds : 
The black clouds his banner of vengeance unfurl'd, 
And thunder his voice to a guilt -stricken world ; 

In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, 
And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, 
And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew 

the plain, 
And vultures and wolves arc the graves of the slain ; 

I lot such was that rainbow, that beautiful one ? 
Whose arch was refraction, its keystone the sun : 


A pavilion it seemed which the Deity graced, 
And Justice and Mercy met there and embraced. 

Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, 
Like Love o'er a death couch, or Hope o'er the tomb ; 
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, 
As Love had just vanish'd or Hope had expired. 

I gazed not alone on that source of my song : 
To all who beheld it, these verses belong ; 
Jts presence to all was the path of the Lord ! 
Each full heart expanded — grew warm — and adored! 

Like a visit— the converse of friends — or a day — 
'f hat bow, from my sight, pass' d for ever away ; 
Like that visit, that converse, that day — to my heart, 
That bow from remembrance can never depart. 

'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined, 
With the strong and unperishing colours of mind ; 
A part of my being, beyond my control, 
Beheld on that cloud, and transcribed on my soul. 

J. Holland. 


" #nii Irntjr pnpaai fcr €$tm a $%" 

Our home is a land where the echoes are ringing 
Through groves by the feet of the seraphim trod \ 

Where the fountains of wisdom eternally springing, 
Roll on their bright streams to the city of God. 

In that land, the fair trees of Eternity growing, 
Form a dwelling of bliss thatno storm can invade, 

Andthe flowers of delight,inits vales that are blowing, 
AreunchilTd by a blast, andunstain'd by a shade. 

There, there we shall seize on our heavenly treasure, 
And nought shall our souls from their happiness 

We'll dwell on the banks of that river of pleasure, 
And drink of its waters for ever and ever. 

There the sorrows of parting no more shall affright us, 
When past are the griefs of this time-wasting story ; 

Nor the grave shall divide, nor shall death disunite us, 
Eternally joined in the fulness of glory. 

What then is the grave ? though so wild and 

To us its dim vale speaks of triumph to come; 
We hail with delight the dark portal appearing ! 

That grave is carth'slimit ; and heaven is our home ! 


The pilgrim of life ?ees no danger impending, 
To dim his rejoicing, or shroud him in gloom ; 

His Saviour closed up the dark cave in ascending, 
And, wing'd with delight, he outrises the tomb. 

Even then, when from earth and its weariness flying, 
A prospect of bliss to his spirit is given ; 

And the joys that possess him, triumphantly dying, 
Gild the gloom of the grave with the glories of 

Let the child of the earth doat on scenes that have 
perish' d ; 
To visions of fancy his spirit enslave, 
1111 he sees the vain hope, that so long he has 
Sink down in the ashes that cover his grave ; 

Wc haste to our home! and, on earth though forsaken, 
ThoughLove still desert us, and Friendship deny ; 
Our God is our rest, and his promise our beacon, 
That guides through the midnight of worlds to 
the sky, 

J. G. B. Pegg. 



See the leaves around us falling, 
Dry and wither' d to the ground ; 

Thus to thoughtless mortals calling, 
In a sad and solemn sound : 

(i Sons of Adam, once in Eden, 
Blighted whence, like us, ye fell: 

Hear the lecture we are reading ; 
Tis, alas ! the truth we tell. 

" Virgins, much, too much presuming 
On your boasted white and red ; 

View us, late in beauty blooming, 
Number' d now among the dead. 

u Griping misers, nightly waking, 
See the end of all your care : 

Fled on wings of our own making, 
We have left our owners bare. 

" Sons of honour, fed on praises. 
Fluttering high in fancied worth ; 

Lo, the fickle air, that raises, 
Brings us down to parent earth. 


"Learned sophs, in systems jaded, 

Who for new ones daily call ; 
Cease at length, by us persuaded, 

Every leaf must have its fall. 

"Youths, though yet no lessons grieve you, 
Gay in health and manly grace ; 

Let not cloudless skies deceive you ; 
Summer gives to autumn place. 

'* Venerable sires, grown hoary, 

Hither turn th' unwilling eye ; 
Think, amid your fading glory, 

Autumn tells a winter nigh. 

" Yearly in our course returning, 

Messengers of shortest stay ; 
Thus we preach this truth concerning, 

' Heaven and earth shall pass away.' 

" On the tree of life eternal, 

Man, let all thy hopes be stay'd ; 

Which alone for ever vernal, 

Bears 'a leaf that shall not fade.'" 

Bishop Horne. 


€\)t ^umlw nf Christ 

Yes, thou didst die for me, O Son of God ! 

By thee the throbbing flesh of man was worn ; 
Thy naked feet the thorns of sorrow trod, 

And tempests beat thy houseless head forlorn ; 
Thou that wert wont to stand 
Alone on God's right hand, 
Before the angels were, the Eternal, Eldest Born. 

Thy birthright in the world was pain and grief: 

Thy love's return, ingratitude and hate : 
The limbs thou healedst brought thee no relief ; 
The eyes thou openedst calmly view'd thy fate, 
Thou that wert wont to dwell 
In peace tongue cannot tell, 
Nor heart conceive the bliss of thy celestial state. 

They dragg'd thee to the Roman's solemn hall ; 

Where the proud judge in purple splendour sate; 
Thou stoodst a meek and patient criminal, 

Thy doom and death from human lips to wait ; 
Whose throne shall be the world 
In final ruin hurl'd, 
With all mankind to hear their everlasting fate. 


Thou wert alone in that fierce multitude, 

When "Crucify him!" yell' d the general shout; 
No hand to guard thee mid those insults rude, 
Nor lip to bless in all that frantic rout : 
Whose lightest whisper' d word 
The seraphim had heard, 
And adamantine arms from all the heav'ns broke 

They bound thy temples with the twisted thorn ; 
Thy bruised feet went languid on with pain ; 
The blood, from all thy flesh with scourges torn, 
Deepen'd thy robe of mockery's crimson grain : 
WTiose native vesture bright 
Was the unapproached light, 
The sandal of whose foot the rapid hurricane. 

They smote thy cheek with many a ruthless palm, 
With the cold spear thy shuddering side they 
pierced ; 
The draught of bitterest gall was all the balm 
They gave t' enhance thy unslakedburning thirst ; 
Thou, at whose words of peace 
Did pain and anguish cease, 
Andt e long-buried dead their bonds of slumber 

Lowbow'd thy head convulsedand droop'd in death ? 
Thy voice sent forth a sad and wailing cry ; 


Slow struggled from thy breast the parting breath, 
And every limb was wrung with agony ; 
That head, whose veilless blaze 
FhTd angels with amaze, 
When at that voice sprang forth the rolling suns on 

And thou wert laid within the narrow tomb, 
Thy clay-cold limbs with shrouding grave-clothes 
The sealed stone confirmed thy mortal doom ; 
Lone watchmen walk'd thy desert burial ground, 
Whom heaven could not contain, 
Nor the immeasurable plain 
Of vast infinity enclose or circle round. 

For us, for us, thou didst endure the pain, 
And thy meek spirit bo w'd itself to shame 
To wash our souls from sin's infecting stain, 
T' avert the Father's wrathful vengeance-flame : 
Thou, who could'st nothing win 
By saving worlds from sin, 
Nor aught of glory add to thy all-glorious name. 



Stttntimts nf tjje WA 

"As a vesture thou shalt change them, and they shall bo 
changed ; hut thou art the same, and thy years shall not fail." 

A vessel was passing the calm summer seas, 
And its streamers were floating and fann'd by the 

breeze ; 
While the radiance above, the bright waters beneath, 
Smiled a promise of joy and of safety from death! 
And it seem'd, as it sail'd along, gallant and free, 
A bright spot on the waves of eternity's sea : 
Where now is the vessel gone ? — Sunk in the wave, 
And the billows roll over its crew in their grave. 

A city once stood in its power and prime, 
Which mock'd all the rude devastations of time, 
While its pinnacles high, and its banners unfurl'd, 
Seemed to threaten with slavery half of the world : 
Where now is its glory ? — 'tis crush' d to the ground, 
And its mouldering ruins lie fading around ; 
While the breeze, as it sighs through the moss on 

the walls, 
Where the shout of the free often peaTd through 

the halls, 
Speaks a tale to the soul of long ages gone by, 
And a voice whispers thence — "Every creature 

must die." 


I thought on the heart once so light and so gay, 
With smiles like the beams of abright summer's day, 
Each year as it came brought more bliss than the 

And the hopes of the future were bright as the past; 
Those years of the future are still flowing on, 
But where is that cheerful heart ? Broken and gone : 
Those hopes once so brilliant are hush'd in the 

Not a relic of joy from the past could they save ! 

I look'd on the starry sky, boundless and free, 
And it seem'd in its vastness an emblem of thee ; 
Though clouds may leap o'er it, and tempests may 

They but sully its brightness and calm for an hour ; 
While earthly things vanish, their pride and their 

Still thou art immutable, ever the same ! 



$nspl €mty. 

Ages roll'd on rolling ages, 

Letting gifts of gladness fall, 
Till the gospel's sacred pages 

Brought the highest gift of all. 

Ages — by the gospel brightened, 
Since have sped their holier way, 

Hearts improved and minds enlightened, 
By its night-dispelling ray. 

And when we in dust shall moulder, 
Gospel truth her shrine shall rear, 

And eternal years behold her, 

Still more firm, and still more fair, 

Future, present, past, combining, 
In one great transcendent sun ; 

Strengthen'd most when brightest shining, 
And still shining brighter on. 


Q 3 


Lay down the shield, and quit the sword, 

For now thy work is done : 
And swiftly toward the glowing East 

Ascends the rising sun. 
Angelic guards wait with the day, 

Thy crown of light to bring, 
" O Grave, where is thy victory ? 

O Death, where is thy sting ? " 

Bravely hast thou upheld thy shield, 

The path of conquest trod, 
And follow'd in yon dreadful field 

The banner of thy God. 
The hour of rest approaches nigh, 

And waiting heralds sing, 
"O Grave, where is thy victory ? 

O Death, where is thy sting ? " 

They come, they come — and high in air 

Is borne the Victor's wreath, 
Who overthrew, in glorious war, 

The World, the Grave, and Death. 
There, there they wait to welcome thee. 

And high their triumphs ring : 
u O Grave, where is thy victory ? 

O Death, where is thy sting ?" 


Thus swiftly pass'd the heavenly band 

And soon the city gain'd ; 
The soldier, from his Sovereign's hand, 

A soldier's crown obtain'd ; 
But still, as heavenly gales went by, 

I heard each joyful string, 
r< Grave, where is thy victory ? 

O Death, where is thy sting ? " 

And thus, when all our toils are o'er, 

Shall we the conquest share, 
And with the conquerors above, 

The palms of triumph bear. 
Again shall yonder hosts of light, 

Abroad their banners fling, 
"O Grave, where is thy victory r 

O Death, where is thy sting?" 

And we shall on the mount of God, 

Girt with the Victor's sword, 
Receive the honours which, with blood, 

Were purchased by our Lord. 
And ever through the echoing sky, 

This song of joy shall ring, 
"O Grave, where is thy victory? 

O Death, where is thy sting?" 

J. G. B. Pegg. 


$n rati (ftyifo at fltitf* 

Play on, my little one ! fair is thine hour ; 

How jocund thy spirit, how cloudless and bright ! 
While Care haunts the court, and the camp, and the 

Thy heart only feels the warm thrill of delight. 

Play on ! for thy gambols, so blithesome and free, 
It were pleasure to share, as 'tis joy to behold ; 

Thou art merry and wild as the revelling bee ; 
Thou art blithe as a lamb just escaped from the 

O could'st thou through life be as happy as now, 
With thy heart as unclouded, thy bosom as pure ; 

Could the joy of that smile which enlightens thy 
And the rapturous glow of thy spirits, endure! 

But I would not with dread of the future oppress 
thee ; 
Play on ! and remember that nothing can tsar 
From thy innocent bosom the hopes that now bless | 

Save the vice of the world : — all thy danger lies I 



And when its temptations beset thee my child, 
O think of the truth which my verse would 

Be ne'er by its folly, its madness beguiled, 

But in purity keep all the thoughts of thy heart. 

More joy will it give me in life, if thy name 
Be a word to awaken the feelings of worth, 

More joy than to see thee exalted by fame, 

And rich in the wealth and the grandeur of earth. 

Yes ! goodness will yield to thy soul a delight 
Which the splendour of greatness can never 
bestow ; 

And while virtue directs thee, her heavenly light 
Will reveal the sweet flowers in thy pathway 

Thus favour' d and happy, thus blessing and blest, 
Thou wilt pass through the world unallured by 
its crime ; 

Thus living, be honour'd ; thus dying, thy rest 
Will be endless in glory — in rapture sublime ! 


€jj? Stal nf /latum 

'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours 

As they floated in light away, 
By the opening and the folding flowers 

That laugh to the summer's day. 

Thus each moment had its own rich hue, 

And its graceful cup or bell, 
In whose colour'd vase might sleep the dew, 

Like a pearl in an ocean-shell. 

To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd 

In a golden current on, 
Ere from the garden, man's first abode, 

The glorious guests were gone. 

So might the days have been brightly told — 
Those days of song and dreams — 

When shepherds gather'd their flocks of old, 
By the blue Arcadian streams. 

So in those isles of delight, that rest 

Far off in a breezeless main, 
Which many a bark, with a weary quest, 

Hath sought but still in vain. 



Yet is not life, in its real flight, 

Mark'd thus — even thus — on earth, 

By the closing of one hope's delight, 
And another's gentle birth ? 

O let us live, so that flower by flower, 

Shutting in turn may leave 
A ling'ring still for the sun- set hour, 

A charm for the shaded eve. 

Mrs. Hemans. 

€-lp (Cmnnrt lljif 

Morn on the waters! and purple and bright, 

Bursts on the billow the flushing of light ; 

O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, 

See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ; 

Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail 

And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the 

The winds come around her in murmur and song, 
And the surges rejoice, as they bear her along. 


See! she looks up to the golden- edged clouds, 
And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds : 
Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, 
Over the waters — away, and away ! 
Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, 
Passing away, like a dream of the heart ! 
Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, 
Music around her, and sunshine on high — 
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, 
O there be hearts that are breaking below ? 

Night on the waves ! and the moon is on high — 
Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky, 
Treading its steps, in the power of her might, 
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light ! 
Look to the waters ! — asleep on their breast, 
Seems not the ship like an island of rest? 
Bright and alone on the shadowy main, 
Like a heart- cherish' d home on some desolate 

plain ! 
Who — as she smiles on the silvery light, 
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, 
Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, 
A phantom of beauty— could deem, with a sigh, 
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, 
And souls that are smitten lie bursting within ? 
Who — as he watches her silently gliding — 
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing 


Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, 
Hearts which are parted and broken for ever ! 
Or dreams that he watches afloat on the wave, 
The death-bed of Hope, or the young spirit's grave ? 

'Tis thus with our life : while it passes along, 

Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song ! 

Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the .world, 

With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurl'd ; 

All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes, 

Yet charter' d by sorrow, and freighted with sighs: 

Fading and false is the aspect it wears, 

As the smiles we put on just to cover our cares ; 

And the withering thoughts which the world 

cannot know, 
Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below ; 
Whilst the vessel approaches that desolate shore, 
Where the dreams of our childhood are vanish'cj 


T. K. Hervey. 


Inng nf fy* 1 ttgcls nt $jtjjljjmn. 

Hark ! what mean those holy voices, 
Sweetly sounding through the skies ? 

Lo ! the angelic host rejoices ; 
Heavenly hallelujahs rise. 

Listen to the wond'rous story, 

Which they carol in the sky : 
" Glory, in the highest, glory ; 

Glory be to God most high ! 

" Peace on earth, good will from heaven, 
Reaching far as man is found ; 

Souls redeem 'd and sins forgiven ; 
Loud our golden harps shall sound. 

u Christ is born, the Great Anointed ; 

Heaven and earth his praises sing ! 
O receive, whom God appointed, 

For your Prophet, Priest, and King. 

" Hasten, mortals, to adore Him ! 

Learn his name, and taste his joy ; 
Till in heaven ye sing before Him, 

Glory be to God most high I" 



O from the world's vile slavery, 
Almighty Saviour ! set me free ; 
And, as my treasure is above, 
Be there my thoughts, be there my love. 

But oft, alas ! too well I know 

My thoughts, my love, are fix'd below : 

In every lifeless prayer I find 

The heart unmoved, the absent mind. 

O what that frozen heart can move, 
That melts not at the Saviour's love ? 
What can that sluggish spirit raise, 
That will not sing the Saviour's praise ? 

Yet earthly pleasure still hath charms, 
And earthly love my bosom warms ; 
Though cold my heart to love divine, 
And cold, my bleeding Lord, to thine. 

Lord, draw my best affections hence, 
Above this. world of sin and sense ; 
Cause them to soar beyond the skies, 
And rest not, till to Thee they rise ! 

Mrs. Cotterill. 


€jp laktartjr. 

Dear is the hallow'd morn to me, 
When village bells awake the day ; 

And by their sacred minstrelsy, 
Call me from earthly cares away. 

And dear to me the winged hour, 

Spent in thy hallow'd courts, O Lord — 

To feel devotion's soothing power, 
And catch the manna of thy word. 

And dear to me the loud Amen 

"Which echoes through the blest abode, 

Which swells, and sinks, and swells again, 
Dies on the walls, but lives to God. 

And dear the simple melody, 

Sung with the pomp of rustic art ; 

That holy, heavenly harmony, 
The music of a thankful heart. 

In secret I have often pray'd, 

And still the anxious tear would fall ; 

But, on the sacred altar laid, 

The fire descends and dries them all. 


Oft when the world, with iron hands, 
Has bound me in its six days' chain, 

This bursts them, like the strong man's bands, 
And lets my spirit loose again. 

Then, dear to me, the Sabbath morn, 
The village bells, the shepherd's voice, 

These oft have found my heart forlorn, 
And always bid that heart rejoice. 

Go, man of pleasure, strike the lyre, 
Of Sabbaths broken sing the charms; 

Ours are the prophet's car of fire, 
Which bears us to a Father's arms. 


1 ./rttgnrot 

When by a good man's grave I muse alone, 
Methinks an angel sits upon the stone : 
Like those of old on that thrice hallow' d night. 
Who sat and watch' d in raiment heavenly bright, 
And with a voice inspiring joy, not fear, 
Says, pointing upwards — that he is not here — 
That he is risen ! 

Samuel Rogers. 

r 3 



^nnpr %mmtb taj Miriintt, 

I ask'd the Lord, that I might grow 
In faith, and love, and every grace ; 

Might more of his salvation know, 
And seek more earnestly his face. 

'Twas He who taught me thus to pray, 
And He, I trust, has answer'd prayer ; 

But it has been in such a way 
As almost drove me to despair. 

I hoped that in some favour'd hour, 
At once He 'd answer my request j 

And by his love's constraining power, 
Subdue my sins, and give me rest. 

Instead of this He made me feel 
The hidden evils of my heart ; 

And let the angry powers of hell 
Assault my soul in every part. 

Yea more, with His own hand He seem'd 
Intent to aggravate ray woe ! 

Cross'd all the fair designs I schemed, 
Blasted my gourd, and laid me low. 


" Lord, why is this ? " I trembling cried, 
"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death ? " 

" 'Tis in this way," the Lord replied, 
" I answer prayer for grace and faith. 

"These inward trials I employ, 

From self and pride to set thee free I 

And break thy schemes of earthly joy, 
That thou may'st seek thy all in me." 


€jj? mnl Crating nf €\ml 

E'en thus amidst thy pride and luxury, 
O Earth, shall that last coming burst on thee ; 
That secret coming of the Son of Man, 
When all the cherub -thronging clouds shall shine, 
Irradiate with his bright advancing shrine ; 
When that great husbandman shall wave his fan ; 
Sweeping, like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away. 
Still to the noontide of that nightless day, 
Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain 
Along the busy mart and crowded street, 
The buyer and the seller still shall meet, 
And marriage-feasts begin their jocund strain. 


Still to the pouring out the cup of woe ; 
Till earth, a drunkard reeling to and fro, 
And mountains, molten by his burning feet, 
And heaven his presence own, all red with furnace 

The hundred-gated cities then, 
The towers, and temples, named of men 
Eternal, and the thrones of kings, 
The gilded summer-palaces, 
The courtly bowers of love and ease, 
Where still the bird of pleasure sings — 
Ask ye the destiny of them ? 
Go, gaze on falFn Jerusalem ! 
Yea, mightier names are in the fatal roll, 
'Gainst earth and heaven God's standard is unfurFd, 
The skies are shrivell'd like a burning scroll, 
And one vast common doom ensepulchres the world. 

O who shall then survive ? 

O who shall stand and live ? 

When all that hath been is no more : 

When, for the round earth hung in air 

With all its constellations fair, 

In the sky's azure canopy, 
When, for the breathing earth and sparkling sea, 
Is but a fiery deluge without shore, 


Heaving along the abyss profound and dark, 

A fiery deluge, and without an ark ! 

Lord of all power ! when Thou art there alone 

On thy eternal fiery- wheeled throne, 

That in its high meridian noon 

Needs not the perish' d sun nor moon ; 

When thou art there in thy presiding state, 

Wide-sceptred monarch o'er the realm of doom ; 

When from the sea- depths, from earth's darkest 

The dead of all the ages round thee wait ; 
And when the tribes of wickedness are strown, 
Like forest-leaves in th' autumn of thine ire ; 
Faithful and True ! thou still wilt save thine own ! 
The saints shall dwell within the unharming fire, 
Each white robe spotless, blooming every palm. 
E'en safe as we, by this still fountain's side, 
So shall the Church, thy bright and mystic Bride, 
Sit on the stormy gulf, a halcyon bird of calm. 
Yes, mid yon angry and destroying signs, 
O'er us the rainbow of thy mercy shines : 
We hail, we bless the covenant of its beam, 
Almighty to avenge, almightiest to redeem ! 




Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon ; 
As yet the early rising sun 

Has not attain'd his noon : 
Stay, stay, 

Until the hastening day 
Has run 

But to the even- song ; 
And having pray'd together, we 

Will go with you along ! 

We have short time to stay as you ; 

We have as short a spring ; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you, or any thing : 

We die 
As your hours do ; and dry 

Like to the summer's rain, 
Ur, as the pearls of morning dew 
Ne'er to be found again. 



When Hope, in possession's proud noon riding high, 

Sets quench'd in eternal eclipse, 
And like fruits of Asphaltus, the pleasures we try, 

Turn ashes and dust on the lips ; 
When the joys we have nursed into bitternessburst, 

And the forms we have followed are fled, 
O where shall we fin da repose for the mind 

That dwells with the wreck'd and the dead ? 

O why was Youth's pathway so gallantly strewn 

With flowers of each perfume and hue, 
If their beauty and fragrance must waste in the noon, 

Where fresh in the morning they grew ? 
O why is the scene of existence serene, 

As to Ardour's young eye it appears, 
If its sunshine be warm but to nurture the storm 

That bursts into ruin and tears ? 

Nay, murmur not, mortal, the fraud is thine own ! 

Who bade thee a shadow adore ? 
Earth's blessings were given for thy comfort alone, 

Thy hopes and affections for more. 
Then turn thee from earth to the rights of thy birth — 

To the armies of glory on high, 
And seek above those the unbroken repose, 

The garland that never will die. 


Nay, murmur not, Man ! like th' halcyon thou 
Thy nest on the billow hast made : 

Thou hast trusted the calm of the summer, and now 
The tempest thy trust has betray' d. 

Go, build on the rock that looks down on the shock 
Of the elements combating free, 

Where no clouds part thine eye and the ever bright 
No woes, thy Creator and thee ! 

Henry Thomson. 

Friend after friend departs : 
Who hath not lost a friend ? 

There is no union here of hearts 
That finds not here an end : 

Were this frail world our final rest, 

Living or dying, none were blest. 

Beyond the flight of Time, 
Beyond the reign of Death, 

There surely is some blessed clime 
Where life is not a breath ; 

Nor Life's affections transient fire, 

Whose sparks fly upwards and expire. 


There is a world above, 

Where parting is unknown; 
A long eternity of love, 

Form'd for the good alone : 
And faith beholds the dying, here, 
Translated to that glorious sphere ! 

Thus star by star declines, 

Till all are pass'd away : 
As morning high and higher shines, 

To pure and perfect day : 
Nor sink those stars in empty night, 
They hide themselves in heaven's own light. 

James Montgomery. 

" He was the first that ever bore 
Glad tidings to that desert shore." 

My heart goes with thee, dauntless man, 

Freely as thou dost hie 
To sojourn with some barbarous clan, 

For them to toil or die. 
Fondly our spirits to our own 

Cling, nor to part allow; 
Thine to some land forlorn has flown— 

We turn — and where art thou? 


Thou climb'st the vessel's lofty side : 

Numbers are gathering there — 
The youthful warrior in his pride, 

The merchant in his care, 
Hearts which for knowledge track the seas. 

Spirits which lightly rove 
Glad as the billows and the breeze, 

And thou the child of love. 

A savage shore receives thy tread ; 

Companion thou hast none ; 
The wild boughs wave above thy head, 

Yet still thou journey' st on, 
Threading the tangled wild wood drear, 

Piercing the mountain glen, 
Till wearily thou drawest near 

The haunts of lonely men. 

Strange is thine aspect to their eyes ; 

Strange is thy foreign speech : 
And wild and strong is their surprise 

At marvels thou dost teach ; 
Thy strength alone is in thy words, 

Yet armies could not bow 
The spirit of those barbarous hordes 

So readily as thou. 

But oh! thy heart, thou home-sick man, 
With saddest thoughts runs o'er, 

Sitting, as fades the evening wan, 
Silently at thy door 

TYRE. 203 

Yet that poor hut upon the wild, 

A stone beneath the tree, 
And souls to heaven's love reconciled — 

These are enough for thee ! 

W. Ho WITT. 

In thought, I saw the palace- domes of Tyre ; 

The gorgeous treasures of her merchandise ; 
All her proud people in their brave attire, 

Thronging her streets for sport or sacrifice. 

I saw the precious stones and spiceries ; 
The singing girl with nower-wreath'd instrument ; 

And slaves, whose beauty ask'd a monarch's price. 
Forth from all lands all nations to her went, 
And kings to her on embassy were sent. 

I saw, with gilded prow and silken sail, 
Her ships that of the sea had government : 

O gallant ships, 'gainst you what might prevail ! 
She stood upon her rock, and in her pride 
Of strength and beauty, waste and woe defied. 

I look'd again — I saw a lonely shore, 

A rock amid the waters, and a waste 
Of trackless sand : I heard the black seas roar, 

204 TYRE. 

And winds that rose in gusty haste. 

There was one scathed tree by storm defaced, 
Round which the sea-birds wheel'd with screaming 

Ere long came on a traveller, slowly paced, 
Now east, now west he turn'd; with curious eye, 
Like one perplex' d with an uncertainty, 

Awhile he look'd upon the sea, and then 
Upon a book, as if it might supply 

The things he lack'd : he read and gazed again ; 
Yet, as if unbelief so on him wrought, 
He might not deem this shore the shore he sought. 

Again I saw him come : — 'twas eventide ; 

The sun shone on the rock amid the sea ; 
The winds were hush'd: the quiet billows sigh'd 

With a low swell : the birds wing'd silently 

Their evening flight around the scathed tree ;" 
The fisher safely put into the bay, 

And push'd his boat ashore : then gather' d he 
His nets, and hastening up the rocky way, 
Spread them to catch the sun's warm evening ray. 

I saw that stranger's eye gaze on the scene, 
"And this was Tyre ! " said he, " how has decay 

Within her palaces a despot been! 
Ruin and silence in her courts are met, 
And on her city-rock the fisher spreads his net!" 

Mary Howitt. 


% jtaft Mnml 

light is pleasant to the eye, 

And health comes rustling on the gale, 
Clouds are careering through the sky, 

Whose shadows mock them down the dale, 
Nature as fresh and fragrant seems 
As I have met her in my dreams. 

For I have heen a prisoner long, 
In gloom and loneliness of mind ; 

Deaf to the melody of song, 
To every form of beauty blind : 

Nor morning dew, nor evening balm, 

Might cool my cheek — my bosom calm. 

But now the blood, the blood returns , 
With rapturous pulses through my veins; 

My heart, new-born within me, burns; 

My limbs break loose, they cast their chains; 

Rekindled at the sun, my sight 

Tracks to a point the eagle's flight. 

1 long to climb those old grey rocks, 

Glide with yon river to the deep ; 
s 3 


Range the green fields with herds and flocks, 

Free as the roebuck run and leap ; 
Then mount the lark's victorious wing, 
And from the depth of ether sing. 

O Earth ! in maiden innocence, 
Too early fled thy golden time; 

O Earth ! Earth ! Earth ! for man's offence, 
Doom'd to dishonour in thy prime ! 

Of how much glory then bereft ! 

Yet what a world of bliss was left ! 

The thorn — harsh emblem of a curse — 
Puts forth a paradise of flowers : 

Labour, man's punishment,, is nurse 
To halcyon joys at sunset hours ; 

Plague, famine, earthquake, want, disease, 

Give birth to holiest charities. 

And Death himself, with all the woes 
That hasten yet prolong the stroke — 

Death brings with every pang repose ; 
With every sigh he solves a yoke : 

Yea, his cold sweats and moaning strife 

Wring out the bitterness of life ! 

Life ! Life! with all its burdens dear ! 

Friendship is sweet — love sweeter still ; 
Who would forego a smile, a tear, 

One generous hope, one chastening ill ! 


Home ! kindred ! country ! these are ties 
Might keep an angel from the skies. 

But these have angels never known, 

Unvex'd felicity their lot : 
Their sea of glass before the throne, 

Storm, lightning, shipwreck, visit not : 
Our tides beneath the changing moon, 
Are soon appeas'd — are troubled soon. 

Well, I will bear what all have borne, . 

Live my few years, and fill my place ; 
O'er old and young affections mourn, 

Rent one by one from my embrace, 
Till suffering ends, and I have done * 
With all delights beneath the sun. 

Whence came I ? Memory cannot say ; 

Where am I ? Knowledge will not show ; 
Bound whither ? Ah, away, away, 

Far as eternity can go ; 
Thy love to win, thy wrath to flee, 
O God ! Thyself my helper be ! 

J. Montgomery. 


kfy 10 life. 

Building castles in the air, 
Days and nights of anxious care, 
Leading onward — who knows where? 

Such is Life ! 

Hope's gay visions soon destroy'd, 
Earth's best pleasures soon enjoy'd. 
Leaving but the " aching void," 

Such is Life ! 

Mighty works, and projects splendid. 
Well begun, but never ended, 
All in one dark chaos blended, 

Such is Life ! 

Friendship's vows, in fondness spoken, 
Soon in haste and anger broken, 
Careless of each cherish'd token, 

Such is Life ! 

To cling around one faithful heart, 
Whose love can purest joy impart — 
To see it then in death depart, 

Such is Life ! 

Since, then, earthly hopes are vain, 
And pleasures fled come not again, 
Should we not rather strive to gain 

The better Life ? 


There will the weary soul find rest, 

There will it be for ever blest, 

No more to say, in tones distrest, — 

"Such is Life!" 

But, greeting all it loved before, 
Each bitter disappointment o'er, 
To meet — sing praises — and adore, — 

This will be Life indeed ! 

William Gurner. 

f \t (^utq itttn SratMlrai, 

The air is filTd with shouts and trumpets sounding ; 

A host are at thy gates, Jerusalem ! 
Now is their van the Mount of Olives rounding. 

Observe them — Judah's lion-banners gleam, 

Twined with the palm and olive's peaceful stem. 
Now swell the nearer sounds of voice and string, 

As down the hill-side pours the living stream ; 
And to the cloudless heaven hosannas ring — 
"The Son of David comes — the conqueror, the 
king ! " 

The cuirass'd Romanheard; andgrasp'dhis shield, 
And rush'd in fiery haste to gate and tower : 

The pontiff from his battlement beheld 

The host, and knew the falling of his power ; 


He saw the cloud on Sion's glory lower 
Still down the marble road the myriads come, 
Spreading the way with garment, branch, and 
And deeper suunds are mingling "Woe to Rome! 
The day of freedom dawns ; rise, Israel, from thy 
tomb ! " 

Temple of beauty — long that day is done ; 

Thy wall is dust; thy golden cherubim 
In the fierce triumphs of the foe are gone ; 

The shades of ages on thy altars swim ; 

Yet still a light is there, though wavering dim ; 
And has its holy light been watch'd in vain ? 

Or lives it not until the finish' d time, 
When He who fix'd, shall break his people's chain, 

AndSionbe the loved the crown'd of God again ? 

He comes, yet with the burning bolt unarm'd ; 

Pale, pure, prophetic, God of Majesty ! 
Though thousands, tens of thousands round him 
None durst abide that depth divine of eye ; 
None durst the waving of his robe draw nigh, 
But at his feet was laid the Roman sword ; 

There Lazarus knelt to see his King pass by ; 
There Jairus, with his age's child adored, 
" He comes, the King of kings ; Hosanna to the 




" Commune with your own heart upon your bed, and 
he still."— Psalm iv. 4. 

When Night draws down the curtain of repose, 

And spreads her couch the weary limbs to rest, 
Ere yet her soothing spells mine eyelids close, 

Let me unfold the tablets of my breast ; 
And on its page, by Conscience traced, to read 

The unflattering records of the vanish' d day, 
Each thought of sin, each idle word and deed — 

Alas ! how dense — how dark the long array ! 

" Tis but one day," the worldling whispers here : — 

And what is time, in its uncounted age, 
Since first it woke upon our infant sphere, 

To run untired its restless pilgrimage ? 
'Tis made of minutes; and ere one can fly, 

Eternity may hang upon its wing ; 
Come then, sweet Contemplation, here draw nigh, 

Lean o'er my couch, and heavenly wisdom bring. 

" How hast thou spent the moments that are past? " 
Thus she inquires; and Conscience, trembling, 
hears * 


"Hast thou, in every doubt and trial, cast 

On One who loves thee, all thy faithless fears ? 

Hast thou possess'd him in each breathless thought, 
In all thy ways his sovereign grace confess'd, 

Thy heart entire before his footstool brought, 
For all thou hast, his wondrous mercy bless' d ! 

" Say, hast thou lived but for this world alone, 

Where pleasure's streams the taint of sin contain, 
That, like the water turning all to stone, 

Harden the heart, and Conscience sighs in vain ? 
And hast thou wept thy weakness in the dust, 

And moral leprosy that haunts the mind? 
Through the fierce crowd of each opposing lust, 

Press'd on, thy Saviour's willing power to find ? 

" Hast thou by faith, his robe of rignteousness 

Grasped with the heart thy nakedness to hide? 
If so — disease has fled, and he will bless, 

Freely forgive, and never, never chide ! 
Thus commune on thy bed, and praise the Lord, 

Who called thee out of darkness into light, 
Mourn each unwilling sin, and trust his word, 

Walking in love and faith, and not by sight." 



O talk to me of heaven ! I love 

To hear about my home above ; 

For there doth many a loved one dwell, 

In light and joy ineffable. 

O tell me how they shine and sing, 

While every harp rings echoing, 

And every glad and tearless eye 

Beams like the bright sun, gloriously. 

Tell me of that victorious palm 

Each hand in glory beareth ; 
Tell me of that celestial calm 

Each face in glory weareth. 

O happy, happy country! where 

There entereth not a sin ; 
And Death, who keeps its portals fair, 

May never once come in. 
No grief can change their day to night; 
The darkness- of that land is light. 
Sorrow and sighing God hath sent 
Far thence to endless banishment; 
And never more may one dark tear 

Bedim their burning eyes ; 
For every one they shed while here, 

In fearful agonies, 


214 HEAVEN, 

Glitters a bright and dazzling gem 
In their immortal diadem. 
O lovely, blooming country ! there 
Flourishes all that we deem fair. 

And though no fields nor forests green, 
Nor bowery gardens there are seen, 

Nor perfumes load the breeze ; 
Nor hears the ear material sound; 
Yet joys at God's right hand are found, 

The archetypes of these. 
There is the home, the land of birth 
Of all we highest prize on earth. 
The storms that rack this world beneath, 

Must there for ever cease ; 
The only air the blessed breathe 

Is purity and peace, 

O happy happy land ! in thee 

Shines the unveil'd Divinity ; 

Shedding through each adoring breast 

A holy calm, a halcyon rest. 

And those blest souls, whom death did sever, 

Have met to mingle joys for ever. 

O soon may heaven unclose to me; 

O may I soon that glory see ! 

And my faint, weary spirit stand 

Within that happy, happy land ! 



<f&p\ m m mm. 

They are no more ! O dull and drear, 
Sound those bereaving, mournful words ; 

Affliction finds no wilder tear — 
Mem'ry no darker doom records ; 

Not in our homes, not by our side, 
Move the bright beings we deplore ; 

The hearts which love hath sanctified, 

They are no more ! 

O breathes there one that hath not known 
The parting word — the dying look — 

While in the soul grief walk'd alone, 
And every pulse with anguish shook : 

Some cherish'd one that bless' d him there, 
And pass'd — as sunlight from the shore ? 

Woe ! woe ! the young — the loved — the fair — 

They are no more, 

The music of their lips hath fled, 

Their grace and beauty pass'd away ; 
Yet lives the presence of the dead 

Within our souls, as light in day ! 
A fresher light shall burst the tomb, 

And all the blessed lost restore ; 
Unknown those words of wail and gloom — 

They are no more ! 
Charles Swain. 


€\t lining rati tire Utatir, 

Where are the dead ? In heaven or hell, 
Their disembodied spirits dwell ; 
Their buried forms, in bonds of clay, 
Reserved until the judgment-day. 

Who are the dead? The sons of time 
In every age, and state, and clime : 
Renown'd, dishonoured, or forgot, 
The place that knew them knows them not. 

Where are the living ? On the ground 
Where prayer is heard and mercy found; 
Where, in the period of a span, 
The mortal makes th' immortal man. 

Who are the living ? They whose breath 
Draws every moment nigh to death ; 
Of bliss or woe th' eternal heirs ; 
O what an awful choice is theirs ! 

Then, timely warn'd, may we begin 
To follow Christ and flee from sin ; 
Daily grow up in Him our Head, 
Lord of the living and the dead. 

J. Montgomery. 


christian tm. 

"Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you: we know 
that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the 
brethren." — 1 John hi. 13, 14. 

The clouds that wrap the setting sun 

When Autumn's softest gleams are ending, 

Where all bright hues together run 
In sweet confusion blending : 

Why, as we watch their floating wreath, 

Seem they the breath of life to breathe ? 

To Fancy's eye their motions prove 

Thy mantle round the Sun of love. 

When up some woodland dale we catch 

The many-twinkling smile of ocean 
Or with pleased ear bewilder'd watch 

His chime of restless motion : 
Still, as the surging waves retire, 
They seem to gasp with strong desire ; 
Such signs of love old Ocean gives, 
We cannot choose but think he lives, 
Wouldst thou the life of souls discern? 

Nor human wisdom nor divine 
Helps thee to aught besides to learn ; 

Love is life's only sign. 
t 3 


The spring of the regenerate heart, 
The pulse, the glow of every part, 
Is the true love of Clirist our Lord 
As man embraced, as God adored ! 

But he whose heart will bound to mark 
The full, bright burst of summer morn, 

Loves, too, each little dewy spark 
By leaf or flow'ret worn ; 

Cheap forms, and common hues, 'tis true, 

Through the bright shower- drop meet his view; 

The colouring may be of this earth ; 

The lustre comes of heavenly birth. 

Even so, who loves the Lord aright, 

No soul of man can worthless find ; 
All will be precious in his sight, 

Since Christ on all hath shined : 
But chiefly Christian souls ; for they, 
Though worn and soiTd with sinful clay, 
Are yet, to eyes that see them true, 
All glistening with baptismal dew: 

Then marvel not, if such as bask 

In purest light of innocence, 
Hope against hope, in love's dear task, 

Spite of all dark offence. 
If they who hate the trespass most, 
Yet, when all other love is lost, 


Love the poor sinner, marvel not; 
Christ's mark outwears the rankest blot. 

No distance breaks the tie of blood ; 

Brothers are brothers evermore ; 
Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, 

That magic may o'erpower; 
Oft, ere the common source be known, 
The kindred drops will claim their own, 
And throbbing pulses silently 
Move heart towards heart by sympathy. 

So is it with true Christian hearts! 

Their mutual share in Jesu's blood, 
An everlasting bond imparts 

Of holiest brotherhood : 
O might we all our lineage prove, 
Give and forgive, do good and love, 
By soft endearments in land strife 
Lightening the load of daily life ! 

There is much need ; for not, as yet, 

Are we in shelter or repose, 
The holy house is still beset 

With leaguers of stern foes ; 
Wild thoughts within, bad men without, 
All evil spirits round about, 
Are banded in unblest device, 
To spoil Love's earthly paradise. 


Then draw we nearer day by day, 
Each to his brethren, all to God : 

Let the world take us as she may, 
We must not change our road ; 

Not wondering, though in grief, to find 

The martyr's foe still keep her mind ; 

But fix'd to hold Love's banner fast, 

And by submission win at last. 

The Christian Year. 

€\t M %n. 

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 

The sun himself must die, 
Before this mortal shall assume 

Its immortality ! 
I saw a vision in my sleep, 
That gave my spirit strength to sweep 

Adown the gulph of time. 
I saw the last of human mould. 
That shall creation's death behold, 

As Adam saw her prime ! 

The sun's eye had a sickly glare, 
The earth with age was wan, 

The skeletons of nations were 
Around that lonely man ! 


Some had expired in fight — the brands 
Still rusted in their bony hands ; 

In plague and famine some; 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread : 
And ships were drifting with the dead 

To shores where all was dumb. 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 

With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sere leaves from the wood 

As if a storm pass'd by ; 
Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun, 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 

'Tis mercy bids thee go : 
For thou ten thousand thousand years 
Hast seen the tide of human tears, 

That shall no longer flow. 

"What though beneath thee, man put forth 

His pomp, his pride, his skill ; 
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, 

The vassals of his will ? 
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, 
Thou dim, discrowned king of day : 

For all those trophied arts 
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, 
HeaTd not a passion or a pang 

Entail' d on human hearts. 

"Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall 
Upon the stage of men ; 


Nor with thy rising beams recall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageant bring not back, 
Nor waken flesh upon the rack 

Of pain anew to writhe ; 
Stretch' d in disease's shapes abhorr'd, 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 

Like grass beneath the scythe. 

' E'en I am weary, in yon skies 

To watch thy fading fire ; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire ! 
My lips that speak thy dirge of death — 
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath 

To see thou shalt not boast : 
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall — 
The majesty of Darkness shall 

Receive my parting ghost! 

"This spirit shall return to Him 

Who gave its heavenly spark ; 
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No! it shall live again, and shine 
In .bliss unknown to beams of thine, 

By Him recall'd to breath, 
Who captive led Captivity, 
Who robb'd the Grave of victory ! 

And took the sting from Death! 


"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste, 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man must taste : — 
Go tell the night that hides thy face, 
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, 

On earth's sepulchral clod: 
The dark'ning universe defy- 
To quench his immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God ! " 

T. Campbell. 


Those wither' d leaves along the coldground spread, 

Did once the sweetest of all flowers compose; 
And though full many a sun hath seen them shed, 

They still are odorous as the living rose. 
So breathes the memory of departed worth, 
When years have mourn 'd it in the silent tomb, 
There is a fragrance in the holy earth 

Where virtue sleeps, that time cannot consume ; 
The good man dies, but with his parting breath 

Bequeaths the world a sweet that knows no death. 



€lp> ^ittli nf Jtott fcrnm unit €\)nn^ 

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
No traveller e'er reach'd that blest abode, 
Who found not thorns and briars in his road. 
Worldlings may dance along the flowery plain, 
Cheer' d as they go by many a sprightly strain ; 
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread 
With unshod feet they yet securely tread, 
Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, 
Bent on all pleasure, heedless of its end. 
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove, 
How slow to learn the dictates of His love, 
That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will, 
A life of ease would make them harder still, 
In pity to the souls his grace design'd 
To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 
CalFd for a cloud to darken all their years, 
And said, " Go spend them in the vale of tears." 

O balmy gales of soul-reviving air! 
O salutary streams that murmur there ! 
These, flowing from the Fount of grace above, 
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. 


The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; 
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys ; 
An envious world will interpose its frown, 
To mar delights superior to its own ; 
And many a pang, experienced still within, 
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin ; 
But ills of every shape and every name, 
Transform' d to blessings, miss their cursed aim ; 
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast 
Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 

Ah y be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear; 
But the chief Shepherd even there it near. 
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
Flow from a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine ; 
So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
And drought on all the drooping herbs around. 



M'a Cnmjilitntt 

Of all my race there breathes not one, 

To comfort or deplore me! 
Pain wakes a pulse in every bone, 

And Death is closing o'er me. 
Still does his lifted stroke delay, 

Protracted tortures dooming, 
I feel, ere life has pass'd away, 

His very worm consuming. 

Night spreads her mantle o'er the sky, 

And all around are sleeping, 
While I in tears of agony, 

My restless couch am steeping. 
1 sigh for morn — the rising day 

Awakes the earth to gladness ; 
I turn with sick'ning soul away — 

It smiles upon my sadness. 

Cursed be the day — in tempest wild — 

When first, with looks delighted, 
My mother smiled upon her child, 

And felt her pangs requited ! 
O that by human eye unseen, 

I might have fied from sorrow ; 
And been as though I had not been — 

As I would be to morrow I 

job's complaint. 227 

The light wave sparkling in the beam 

That trembles o'er the river, 
A moment sheds its quivering gleam 

Then shuns the sight for ever : 
So soft a ray can Pleasure shed, 

While secret snares surround it : 
So swift the faithless hope is fled, 

Which wins the heart to wound it. 

A crown of glory graced my brow 

Whole nations bent before me ; 
Princes and hoary sires would bow 

To flatter and adore me. 
To me the widow turn'd for aid, 

And ne'er in vain address'd me ; 
For me the grateful orphan pray'd 

The soul of misery bless* d me. 

X raised the drooping wretch that pined 

In lonely anguish lying ; 
Was balm unto the wounded mind, 

And solace to the dying ; 
Till one stern stroke of all my state, 

Of all my bliss, bereft me; 
And I was worse than desolate, 

For God himself had left me. 

Ye, too, as life itself beloved, 
When all conspired to bless me, 

I deem'd ye friends — but ye have proved 
The foes who most oppress me. 

228 job's complaint. 

I could have borne the slave's rude scorn, 
The wreck of all I cherish'd ; 

Had one — but one — remain' d to mourn 
O'er me, when I too perish'd. 

My children sleep in death's cold shade, 
And nought can now divide them ; 

would the same wild storm had laid 
Their wretched sire beside them ; 

1 had not then been doom'd to see 

The loss of all who love me ; 
Unbroken would my slumbers be 
Though none had wept above me. 

All hope on earth for ever fled, 

A higher hope remaineth ; 
E'en while his wrath is o'er me shed, 

I know my Saviour reigneth. 
The worm may waste this with'ring clay, 

When flesh and spirit sever, 
My soul shall see eternal day, 

And dwell with God for ever ! 



ۤt limit 

A Saint ! would that I could claim 
The privileged, the honoured name, 
And confidently take my stand, 
Though lowest in the saintly band. 

Would, though it were in scorn applied, 
That term the test of truth could bide, 
Like kingly salutation given, 
In mockery to the King of heaven. 

A Saint ! and what imports the name, 
Thus bandied in Derision's game ? 
" Holy and separate from sin ; 
To good, nay e'en to God, akin/' 

Is such the meaning of a name, 

From which a Christian shrinks with shame ? 

Yes, dazzled by the glorious sight, 

He owns his crown is all too bright. 

And ill might son of Adam dare 
Alone such weight of honours bear ; 
But fearlessly he takes the load, 
United to the Son of God. 
u 3 



A Saint! scorner, give some sign, 
Some seal, to prove the title mine, 
And warmer thanks thou shalt command. 
Than bringing kingdoms in thy hand. 

O for an interest in that name, 
When hell shall ope its jaws of flame, 
And sinners to their doom be hurl'd 
While scorned "saints shall judge the world/ 1 

How shall the name of saint be prized, 
Though now neglected and despised, 
When truth shall witness to the Lord, 
That saints shall reap a full reward. 

Mar riot. 

€<jjB $hn nf Iksi 

There is an hour of peaceful rest 
To mourning wanderers given; 
There is a tear for souls distrcst, 
A balm for every wounded breast — 
Tis found above — in heaven ! 


There is a soft, a downy bed, 

Tis fair as breath of even; 
A couch for weary mortals spread, 
Where they may rest the aching head, 

And find repose — in heaven ! 

There is a home for weeping souls, 

By sin and sorrow driven, 
When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals, 
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls, 

And all is drear — but heaven ! 

There Faith lifts up the tearful eye, 

The heart with anguish riven ; 
And views the tempest passing by, 
The evening shadows quickly fly, 

And all serene — in heaven ! 

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom, 

And joys supreme are given : 
There rays divine disperse the gloom ; 
Beyond the confines of the tomb 

Appears the dawn of heaven ! 



$jj* €nwm til 

Once in the flight of ages past 

There lived a man — and who was he ? 

Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, 
That man resembled thee ! 

Unknown the region of his birth, 

The land in which he died unknown : 

His name hath perish' d from the earth, 
This truth survives alone — 

That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear, 
Alternate triumph/ d in his breast; 

His bliss and woe, a smile, a tear I 
Oblivion hides the rest. 

The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 
The changing spirit's rise and fall ; 

We know that these were felt by him, 
For these are felt by all. 

He suffer' d — but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoy'd — but his delights are fled; 
Had friends — his friends are now no more; 

And foes — his foes are dead. 


He loved — but whom he loved, the grave 
Hath hid in its unconscious womb ; 

O she was fair ! but nought could save 
Her beauty from the tomb. 

The rolling seasons, day and night, 

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, 

Erewhile his portion, life and light 
To him exist — in vain. 

He saw whatever thou hast seen, 
Encounter' d all that troubles thee; 

He was whatever thou hast been, 
He is — what thou shalt be ! 

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 
That once their shade and glory threw, 

Have left in yonder silent sky 
No vestige where they flew ! 

The annals of the human race, 
Their ruin since the world began, 

Of him afford no other trace 

Than this — There lived a Man, 

J. Montgomery. 


kmti €Jjiragj}tB, 

How beautiful the setting sun 

Reposes o'er the wave ! 
Like Virtue, life's drear warfare done, 

Descending to the grave; 
Yet smiling with a brow of love, 

Benignant, pure, and kind, 
And blessing, ere she soars above, 

The realms she leaves behind. 

The heaving sea — the distant hill — - 

The waning sky — the woods — 
With melancholy musing fill 

The swelling heart that broods 
Upon the light of other days, 

Whose glories now are full, 
And on the visions Hope could raise, 

Vacant, but beautiful. 

Where are the bright illusions vain 

That Fancy bodieth forth? 
Sunk to their silent caves again, 

Aurorse of the North ! 
O who would live these visions o'er, 

All brilliant though they seem, 
Since earth is but a desert shore, 

And life a weary dream ? 



% -j^mpr. 

Omniscient Being, whose pervading eye 
Surveys each world that rolls beneath the sky, 
Present alike in all creation's parts, 
But chiefly felt within thy children's hearts: 
O Thou, whose fiat bids them know the day, 
And, reason giving, bids their hearts obey, 
Within my breast devotion deep inspire, 
And grant the good implored that I require ! 

let me inward evil hate and shun, 
And in my life thy sacred will be done ! 
While I in nature thy perfection see, 
Or read it in the word reveal'd by Thee : 
Thy renovating influence impart, 

And make thy children "perfect as thou art! " 
If, in the gloom of Error's dismal hour, 

1 sink beneath some latent sinful power, 
Let instant guilt my trembling heart appal, 
And instant penitence retrieve my fall ; 
Subdue the impulse of unhallow'd will, 
And ev'ry thought and wish of good instil. 
As in thy love his being first began, 
Direct my love to universal man, 

To him may kindred sympathy reveal, 
What I, his brother and thy offspring,* feel. 
Blest with thy bounty, let me e'er bestow 
What brightens happiness or softens woe ! 


Let me, like Hezekiah, live to die, 
And my last hour excite no boding sigh ; 
But, fortitude and hope sustained by thee, 
Glide, as a Christian, to eternity ! 


% Sntrattr Iran*. 

'Twas early day — and sunlight stream' 

Soft through a quiet room, 
That hush'd, but not forsaken seem'd- 

Still, but with nought of gloom : 
For there, secure in happy age, 

Whose hope is from above, 
A father communed with the page 

Of Heaven's recorded love. 

Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, 

On his grey hoary hair, 
And touch'd the book with tenderest light, 

As if its shrine were there ; 
But O that patriarch's aspect shone 

With something lovelier far — 
A radiance all the spirit's own, 

Caught not from sun or star. 


Some word of life e'en then had met 

His calm benignant eye ! 
Some ancient promise, breathing yet 

Of immortality ; 
Some heart's deep language, where the glow 

Of quenchless Faith survives : 
For every feature said — "I know 

That my Redeemer lives." 

And silent stood his children by, 

Hushing their very breath 
Before the solemn sanctity 

Of thoughts o'ersweeping death : 
Silent — yet did not each young breast 

With love and reverence melt? 
O blest be those fair girls — and blest 

That home where God is felt ! 

Mrs. Hemans. 

"taring ^l«m 

I love to sit at eventide, 

And view the setting sun 
Depart in all his pomp and pride 

His race of glory run ; — 
And bless the God who made him shine 

To cheer and gladden earth, 


And only deem his rays divine. 
Because of heavenly birth. 

I love to hear the nightingale 

Alone, at evening's close, 
Pouring her notes along the vale, 

"While other birds repose : 
And fancy, as it floats along, 

By earthly sounds unbroken, 
In every rrote of her sweet song, 

Her Maker's praise is spoken. 

I love to hear the murmuring rill, 

In gentle course descending 
Down to the valley from the hill, 

With other streamlets blending 
To bless the Hand by whom it flows, 

An emblem of His love, 
Whose mercy gathers as it goes, 

And has its source above. 

I love to hear the balmy breeze, 

Bearing the showers of dew, 
While rustling through the grateful trees. 

That bend as if they knew ; 
Like me there is no earthly thing, 

That clothes or decks the sod, 
From which a blessing does not spring, 

To glorify its God. 



€1}? pilgrims nf <Bwmxa. 

It happen' d on a solemn eventide, 
Soon after He who was our Surety died, 
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 
The scene of all their sorrows left behind, 
Sought their own village, busied as they went, 
In musings worthy of the great event : 
They spake of Him they loved, of Him whose life, 
Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, 
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 
A deep memorial graven on their hearts* 
The recollection, like a vein of ore, 
The further traced enrich' d them still the more; 
They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, one 
Sent to do more than he appear' d t' have done ; 
To exalt a people and to place them high 
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. 
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
A stranger join' d them, courteous as a friend, 
And ask'd them, with a kind, engaging air, 
What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 
Inform' d, he gather' d up the broken thread, 
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 
Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well 
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, 


That reaching home — "The night," they said, "is 

We need not now be parted — sojourn here." 
The new acquaintance soon became a guest, 
And made so welcome at their simple feast 
He bless' d the bread, but vanish' d at the word, 
And left them both exclaiming — " 'Twas the Lord! 
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say, 
Did they not burn within us by the way ?" 


The golden palace of my God, 

Towering above the clouds I see ; 
Beyond the Cherub's bright abode, 

Higher than angels' thoughts can be. 
How can I in those courts appear, 
Without a wedding garment on ? 
Conduct me, thou Life-giver, there, 

Conduct me to thy glorious throne ! 
And clothe me with thy robes of light, 
And lead me through sin's darksome night, 

My Saviour and my God. 

Russian Poetry. 



1 '''f^A 



€\t Intir nf ^rrajit 

Child, amidst the flowers at play, 
While the red light fades away ; 
Mother, with thy earnest eye, 
Ever following silently; 
Father, by the breeze of eve 
Call'd thy harvest work to leave : 
Pray ! ere yet the dark hours be, 
Lift the heart and bend the knee! 

Traveller, in the stranger's land, 
Far from thine own household band 
Mourner, haunted by the tone 
Of a voice from this world gone ; 
Captive, in whose narrow cell 
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell; 
Sailor, on the darkening sea — 
Lift the heart and bend the knee ! 

Warrior that from battle won, 
Breathest now at set of sun; 
Woman o'er the lowly slain, 
Weeping on his burial plain ; 
Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, 
Kindred by one holy tie ; 
Heaven's first star alike ye see — 
Lift the heart and bend the knee ! 

Mrs. Hemans. 


EirtjfBl Wivpin% for jur Cjjiltom 

O weep not o'er thy children's tomb, 

O Rachel weep not so j 
The bud is cropp'd by martyrdom, 

The flower in heaven shall blow. 

Firstlings of faith, the murderer's knife 

Has miss'd its deadly aim ; 
The God for whom they gave their life, 

For them to suffer came. 

Though evil were their days and few, 

Baptized in blood and pain : 
He knows them whom they never knew, 

And they shall live again. 

O weep not o'er thy children's tomb, 

O Rachel, weep not so ; 
The bud is cropp'd by martyrdom, 

The flower in heaven shall blow. 

Bishop Hebek. 


^inmn out fnirait in tjp WA 

In search of enjoyment I wander'd in vain, 

With a void in my bosom that nothing could fill ; 
For Mirth's gayest smile was succeeded by Pain, 

And the sweet cup of Pleasure proved bitterness 
The young days of Fancy roll'd rapidly by, 

And I shrank with dismay from the future's dark 
Where the clay-fetter'd spirit must mourn till it die, 

And man has no rest but the rest of the tomb. 

And yet I have re^elFd in Hope's fairy dream, 

And tasted the raptures of Love's purest bliss; 
Delusive are both, though alluring they seem, 

Like vapours that gleam o'er a hidden abyss. 
The proud thirst of glory was mine from my birth ; 

Rut what can this world to ambition display, 
Which grasps at the skies, but is bounded by 

A spirit of fire in a prison of clay ? 

And now I have heard of a loftier crown, 
A kingdom unfading — a glory divine ; 

But the humble alone shall inherit the crown, 
And how shall that kingdom of glory be mine? 


Let my strength turn to weakness — my honour to 
shame — 
The reproach of the cross be my earthly reward ; 
All, all shall be welcome for one blessed name, 
The lowly disciple of Jesus the Lord ! 


lira* nf $arwtk 

To honour those who gave us birth, 
To cheer their age, to feel their worth, 
Is God's command to human kind, 
And own'd by every grateful mind. 

Trace then the tender scenes of old, 
And all our infant days unfold; 
Yield back to sight the mother's breast, 
Watchful to lull the child to rest. 

Survey her toil, her anxious care, 
To form the lisping lips to prayer ; 
To win for God the yielding soul, 
And all its ardent thoughts control. 


Nor hold from Mem'ry's glad review 
The fears which all the father knew ; 
The joy that mark'd his thankful gaze, 
As virtue crown* d maturer days. 

When press'd by sickness, pain, or grief ! 
How anxious they to give relief ! 
Our dearest wish they hold their own ; 
Till ours return'd, their peace was flown. 

God of our life, each parent guard, 
And Death's sad hour, O long retard ! 
Be theirs each joy that gilds the past, 
And Heaven our mutual home at last. 


Calm on the bosom of thy God, 

Fair spirit, rest thee now! 
E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod, 

His seal was on thy brow. 

Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! 

Soul, to its place on high ! 
They who have seen thy look in death, 
No more may fear to die. 

Mrs. Hemans. 



Answer me, burning Stars of night! 

Wliere is the spirit gone, 
That, past the reach of human sight, 

As a swift breeze hath flown ? — 
And the Stars answer'd me — "We roll 

In light and power on high ; 
But, of the never-dying soul, 

Ask that which cannot die." 

O many-toned and chainless Wind! 

Thou art a wanderer free ; 
Tell me if thou its place can'st find, 

Far over mount and sea ? 
And the Wind murmur' d in reply, 

" The blue deep I have cross'd, 
And met its barks and billows high, 

But not what thou hast lost." 

Ye Clouds that gorgeously repose 

Around the setting sun, 
Answer, have ye a home for those 

Whose earthly race is run ? 

DEATH. 247 

The bright Clouds answered — "We depart, 

We vanish from the sky ; 
Ask what is deathless in thy heart, 

For that which cannot die." 

Speak then, thou Voice of God within, 

Thou of the deep low tone ! 
Answer me, through life's restless din, 

Where is the spirit flown ? 
And the Voice answered — "Be thou still. 

Enough to know is given ; 
Clouds, Winds, and Stars their part fulfil, 

Thine is to trust in Heaven." 

Mrs. Hemans. 


I have linger' d long for my destined prey, 
And often been call'd from her home away ; 
But I saw her fit for the realms on high, 
And said, "It were better she now should die." 

The husband's prayers I could plainly hear, 
As I watch' d the course of each trickling tear; 
But his grief of heart was of no avail, 
And I saw him bend o'er her form so pale. 

248 DEATH. 

Mine are unkind and relentless powers — 
I pluck the sweetest, the fairest flowers ; 
But I scatter their fragrance around the bed, 
And Memory treasures the leaves they shed. 

O'er the cradled child by its mother's side, 
And the couch of Age, I alike preside ; 
Softly I steal o'er their slumbering eyes, 
And awful their waking, whom I surprise. 

I visit the halls of the great and gay, 

And snatch them from all their delights away ; 

I rest at the villager's humble door ; 

For welcome alike are the rich and the poor. 

Some are presumptuous, and wait not my time, 
But rush to my arms by a terrible crime ; 
They seek not the hand that is stretch' d out to save, 
But sink i» despair and a suicide's grave. 

The warrior goes forth in his armour so bright, 
And his war steed is saddled all fresh for the fight ; 
But the plume on his helmet is laid in the dust, 
For vainly in buckler or shield might he trust, 

The charger that proudly career' d o'er the plain, 
Now serves as a bed for the wounded and slain ; 
And his rider who mounted in spirit so high, 
Far, far from his home and his kindred shall die. 


To the valley all smiling in Nature's gay dress, 
To the bleak, barren mountain I send my express ; 
In the darkness of night, or the splendour of day, 
I send forth the summons which all must obey. 

Nor to earth alone can my reign be confined, 
I dwell on the ocean — the stormy wind — 
And the hidden rocks — O they yield to me 
A harvest rich from the foaming sea. 

When the surges beat and the billows roar, 
And the mariner struggles to gain the shore ; 
O rather by far had he ne'er been born, 
Than meet my rude grasp in the fearful storm. 

My arrows are sharpen'd, my courser is fleet — 
Prepare then, O mortal, my coming to greet ; 
Ere the sun sets again, I this mandate may give — 
Time to thee is no more ; thou shalt die and not live ! 



Soon will this toilsome strife be o'er 

Of sorrow and of care, 
And life's dull vanities no more 

This anxious breast ensnare. 



Courage, my soul, on God rely, 

Deliverance soon will come ! 
A thousand ways Jehovah has 

To bring believers home. 

Ere first I drew this vital breath, 

From nature's prison free, 
Crosses in number, measure, weight, 

Appointed were for me. 

But Thou, my Shepherd, Friend, and Guide, 

Hast led me kindly on ; 
Taught me to rest my weary head 

On Christ, "the Corner-stone." 

So comforted and so sustain'd 

With dark events I strove, 
And found them as I walk'd by faith, 

All messengers of love. 

With silent and submissive awe 

Adore a chastening God : 
Revere his judgments, trust his word, 

And humbly kiss the rod. 

• Mrs. Cowper. 

*■ -+% 



#«t~lik Cljiragjfk 

Beautiful, sublime, and glorious 
Mild, majestic, foaming, free; 

Over time itself victorious ; 
Image of eternity. 

Sun, and moon, and stars shine o'er thee, 
See thy surface ebb and flow ; 

Yet attempt not to explore thee 
In thy soundless depths below. 

Whether morning's splendour steep thee 
With the rainbow's glowing grace, 

Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee, 
Tis but for a moment's space. 

Earth, her valleys and her mountains, 

Mortal man's behest obey ; 
Thy unfathomable fountains 

Scoff his search and scorn his sway. 


Such art thou, stupendous ocean ! 

But, if overwhelm' d by thee, 
Can we think without emotion 

What must thy Creator be ? 



"t#Jwt tjnm tottnst tint iram lljmt sfjalt 
torn jjraafto/' 

There is a secret in the ways of God 

With his own children, which none others know, 

That sweetens all he does ; and if such peace 

While under his afflicting hand we find, 

What will it be to see him as he is, 

And pass the reach of all that now disturbs 

The tranquil soul's repose ? To contemplate, 

In retrospect unclouded, all the means 

By which his wisdom has prepared his saints 

For the vast weight of glory which remains ! 

Cure their affliction, if my Father bids, 

And be my frowning friend. A friend that frowns 

han a smiling enemy. 
We ^ me clouds that bring the former rain 

ley the prospect blacken all around, 

3 the beauties of the opening year, 
,;heir stores enrich'd, the earth may yield 

summer and a plenteous crop. 



W ' ^*#-.: 


013 997 549 2